Twelve Hours Ago

Midtown Manhattan

He stepped onto the pavement, and he felt like a new man.  He looked around at the people who passed him on the street.  They didn’t even bother to look at him.  New York City was as crowded with people, each pulsing with as much negative energy as he remembered.  It was like the Big Apple had just waited for him, those years he was away.  The city had just festered. The people had ripened into fools.  A smile spread on his face, uncontrollably.

They didn’t know who he was.  They didn’t know what he had done.  To them, he was just another guy on the street.  There was no way they could have known who he was.  There was no way for them to know exactly what his return meant to them all.  It was anonymity that he was feeling.  Freedom to be himself again--that’s what was filling his soul at that very moment.

Greg Salinger was free.  Free to be the Foolkiller.

“Breathe in that fresh air, Greg.  Feels good, doesn’t it?”

Greg’s smile faded.  He had almost forgotten the two men who had made this possible:  Tucker Michael Valley, judge, and Roosevelt Nelson, lawyer.

“Did you bring what he wanted?” Valley glanced over to Nelson, who had just rejoined the two of them.

Nelson handed a blank, white, paper bag to Salinger. “Sure did.  Now let’s get out of here.”

Valley chuckled. “Calm down, Rosy.”

Salinger, however, snatched the bag out of Nelson’s hand.  Almost ripping it open, Salinger pulled out a wrapped double cheeseburger.  Discarding all of his trash, Salinger then devoured the burger, almost inhaling the whole thing.  Valley smiled at Nelson as they watched the display.  Nelson did not seem impressed, by the sour look on his face.

Valley slapped Salinger on the back. “So, Greg.  I told you it would take a couple days, but here you are.  You’re a free man.”

Salinger still eyed Valley and Nelson cautiously, moving his tongue around the inside of his mouth, to scoop up the last morsels of the cheeseburger.  He said, “You’ve got some explaining to do then.  I haven’t forgotten all the nasty things you said to me on the phone all those times.”

Valley and Nelson glanced at each other, but then Valley said, “Take a walk with me, Greg.”

Salinger was weary as he and Valley started walking down the crowded Manhattan street, leaving Nelson and the massive New York state courthouse behind.  Salinger glanced over his shoulder, to see Nelson still staring after them, like a fattened pug guarding the cold, monolithic structure.

Valley smiled at him, his teeth white against his tanned skin, and slicked black hair. “I think you and I have a lot in common, Greg.  We both felt a higher calling.  We both felt like something needed to be done about the more foolish denizens of the Earth.  Or more specifically, this city, I suppose.”

Again, the people simply brushed past them.  They didn’t even give two seconds to think about the conversation the two men were having about them all.

Valley continued, “I followed my calling into the law practice.  It was very good to me, of course.  I married a beautiful woman, and we had three wonderful children.  I became a district judge in one of the most important cities in the world.” His voice lowered a bit, and his face became stern. “But I couldn’t do enough on my own.  I had to sit by and watch vigilantism and politics dictate justice.  It’s unfair…foolish.”

Salinger smiled. “Yeah, I know that feeling.”

“But that wasn’t what finally opened my eyes, Greg.” Valley looked like he was in a bit of pain telling Salinger this, “It seems so long ago now, but…” They stopped walking.

Salinger noticed that they had stopped in front of a wedding cake store.  They really hadn’t gotten that far from the courthouse at all.  In the window, there was a massive cake, as tall as Salinger himself, twice as wide, and rotating on some kind of disc underneath it.  Flowers and other various non-edibles were decorated all over it.  Valley sighed. “You know what this was before it was a cake shop?”

Salinger shrugged. “You’re asking a guy who just got out of prison?”

Valley laughed quickly, then sighed. “Yes.  Right.  Well, this used to be a Starbucks.  I mean, I’m sure we could say that about a lot of places in this economy…” But Valley regained his composure, straightening his shoulders and looking into the shop. “But this Starbucks was destroyed…blown to pieces by mutant terrorists.” Valley’s fists and teeth clinched at the same time when he said the word ‘mutant’.  He said very lowly, “My son, Reggie, was murdered by them in cold blood…then they blew up the whole place, and the apartments overhead collapsed.  Hundreds died that day.  But not the man responsible for it all.”

Salinger stayed quiet but he had a sneaking suspicion of the name Valley was about to utter.

“Spider-Man.” Valley said it, and it sounded like music to Salinger’s ears.  Though they were still standing on a busy New York street, Valley looked like he was confessing his sins to a preacher.  Salinger stood there listening, and everyone else just walked on by like they weren’t even standing there. “I felt so much pain…” Valley pounded his heart with his fist. “Right here.  I went to counseling, and therapy…they told me losing a child is the most painful thing a human can go through, that one’s never truly the same afterward.  Obviously, they did little to help me.” Valley held a defiant sneer. “But I got through it myself!  I knew I had to…for my son.  I started to work again, and a while after, I got a visit from Timothy Wolfe.”

Salinger’s brow peaked at the mention of Wolfe…a prolific superhuman psychiatrist, a colleague of Leonard Samson, and one of the first victims of the new Foolkiller.

Valley continued, “He told me he was trying to set up funding for a kind of support program…specifically for the families of those killed in superhuman violence.  I, of course, wanted to help him.  If I could help just one family cope with the pain and loss that I was caused, then I’d give all the money I had.  I met Paul Stacy, maybe you’ve heard of him?  His family is behind the Stacy Foundation?  The non-profit?  It does such good work.  It gives donations to the families of policemen, firemen, civil servants, soldiers, and those killed in superhuman skirmishes.”

Salinger didn’t, but now he did, so he simply nodded, for Valley to keep speaking.  He was sure Valley was talking for no benefit but his own at this point.

“The Stacy Foundation put us in contact with a great deal of people who wanted to participate.  Even got Empire State University to give us a grant.  I met a lot of great people--brilliant people, simply stunted by their own grief.  And then the bottom fell out.” Valley paced his breathing again, clinching his teeth to control his anger. “That bastard Wolfe…he funneled money out of the program into his own pockets.  Eventually, the Stacy Foundation and ESU found out, not to mention the Feds…they shut us down.  But I stayed in contact with so many of the people I met, through e-mail and message boards.  Rosie Nelson was one of the them.  His brother had been a prolific attorney here in the city…but was killed by a madman.  We all agreed that we had to do something to make things right.  And…” Valley shrugged, “we had to get our money back.”

“So you got rid of Wolfe.  Did you seize his accounts?” Salinger asked.

Valley, with a look over his shoulders, started to walk again, rejoining the herding people on the sidewalk.  Salinger had to jog a bit to catch up.  Valley said, “Eventually I was able to seize them, yes.  But we only recouped about fifty percent…and the Stacy Foundation’s credit had been ruined.”

Suddenly, things started to click in Salinger’s mind. “Right…so that’s why you killed Freedom Ring and Scorcher.  You stole the check from the Triune Understanding, hacked their accounts and you sold the technology from Freedom Ring on the black market.”

Valley shook his head slowly. “Too risky.  But I figured we wouldn’t need to do any of that.  You see, the Freedom Ring project was stunted without their one real positive result, so Triune’s investment was void!  They weren’t going to back a project that wasn’t sure to reproduce positive results.  So, instead, they found a new cause for their money…”

 

Salinger smiled, “The Stacy Foundation?”

Valley laughed. “See?  It all worked out.  We eliminated the fools in our way, and we were able to get the Foundation back on its feet with a generous grant from a very high profile client.  The results of the work we do--excuse me, that the Foundation does, are instantaneous and righteous.  It’s not some flight of fancy to create a homo super-hero.  It was the same thing with that fool Wiles.  The money wasted on his idiotic microbiological fantasy, with Curt Connors--an admitted superhuman schizo!--was instead diverted to us--well, I mean the Stacy Foundation.  Connors, of course, came to further use to torture Spider-Man.”

Salinger grimaced. “Right.”

Valley stopped walking again, and turned to face Salinger.  He grasped Salinger by the shoulders with both of his hands.  His eyes were wide. “Greg, all of these terrible things that have happened to us and the ones we love…there has to be a reason for it.  There has to be!  I think that reason was the Foolkiller.  This was God’s plan for us.  Our good fortune is His justification of our actions.  Our anger must be righteous.”

Salinger did not seemed fazed by Valley’s display of faith.  Licking his lips, and looking toward the distance ahead, he asked, “So what do you want from me?”

Valley took a breath before speaking.  He didn’t waver his gaze from Salinger.  “We…wanted you to join us.”  He wanted the words to sink in, but Salinger didn’t give anything up.  So Valley continued, “It’s all coming down to the end, Greg.  We’ve decided that we need to end our role in this, and leave it up to you.” Valley rubbed at his forehead as the words faded.  When he looked up, he saw Salinger was observing him curiously.  Valley straightened his shoulders and began again. “We weren’t stupid enough to think that this could go on forever.  The walls are starting to close in, Greg.  Things are spiraling out of control.”

Salinger nodded. “Yeah, I heard about the thing with Leonard Samson.  It was all over the news.”

“Right, right.  Samson was the last one who could link us all together but…” Valley shook his head like he was trying to avoid a bad smell. “The Wilkins…not very bright people.  Can’t blame them.  Public schooling.  But the NYPD has been willing to…shall we say ‘overlook’ certain mistakes in the past due to the Stacy Foundation’s connection to the famous police captain.  In recent days, I’ve had to resort to extortion in order to keep the NYPD at bay.  I don’t think we can count on their support for much longer.”

Salinger shrugged. “Sounds like you’ve made quite a mess for yourself, Valley.  But let’s say you convinced me, and I want to help.  What do I get out of this?  Freedom?  I could’ve made parole in twenty-six months…”

Now Valley looked excited.  He leaned into Salinger and could hardly contain the grin on his face. “Greg, you get exactly what you’ve always wanted…Spider-Man.  And you’re going to get him tonight.”

READ THIS:

Lunchtime

Code: Blue Temporary Detention, Chicago

“Are you two ready to do this?” Deathlok said, his voice like sandpaper on sandpaper.

Luke Cage said, “Been ready.  Bout time I got to talk to this guy again.  How bout you, Fist?”

Danny Rand shrugged and said, “Anyone want to comment on how funny it is that we actually even have to talk to this guy again?”

Deathlok shrugged. “Well, it is funny we have to talk--”

“That’s enough talkin’.” Cage opened the door to the interrogation room. “Hey, Buddy!”

“GAH~!” Buddy McClintok fell backward, and out of the folding metal chair he had been sitting in.  His wiry frame huddled under the square, steel table. “The Heroes For Hire!  I should’ve known that’s why I was dragged from my cell to this place!  Over an hour’s bus ride from the prison back into this filthy city!  To be tormented by you!  Again!  Isn’t it enough that you’ve wrecked any semblance of order I ever had in my life?”*

(*-oh, the tale of Buddy McClintok is a tragic one told in H4H issues 4-6, and Max2000 issue 25- Bryan)

Cage growled. “You exploded a building on us!”

Buddy squeaked from under the table. “Do you hold it against me?”

Cage looked back at Iron Fist, with a twisted snarl on his face.  Danny had come to recognize that frown over the years…

“Easy, big guy.” Danny patted Luke’s shoulder and took a step toward Buddy.  “I’ll take it from here.” He kneeled, sat cross-legged from the table, able to see Buddy huddled underneath its shade. “Hey, Buddy.  We just want to talk--” and a growl from Cage interrupted Danny long enough for Deathlok to grind some gears.  Danny rolled his eyes and continued, “Okay, Luke and ‘Lok wanna kick your ass, but I’m here to talk.  You tell me what I want to know, and I promise you’ll never hear from any of us again.”

Buddy didn’t relax at all. “I’ve already told everything I know to the police.”

“Technically true.” Iron Fist said. “You got a nice deal from the Feds because of what you told them.  You’ll be out in just a couple months, won’t you?  Maybe sooner with good behavior…”

Cage cracked his knuckles.  Deathlok flashed his laser-scope in little dots at Buddy’s feet.

“What do you need to know?” Buddy’s wiry frame shook with the words.

“I need to know about the Foolkiller.” Iron Fist said.

“The what-what?” Buddy squinted.

“Foolkiller.” The Heroes For Hire said it in unison.

“Nothing.” Buddy said quickly. “There!  Never heard of it before in my life!  Is that all?  Would you please let me go now?”

Danny smirked. “Not so fast, Buddy.  We busted your Protoclan cell here in Chicago a while ago now.  But Protoclan chemicals have popped up in New York City, linking seven homicides.”

Buddy shrugged. “Yeah?  So?  Protoclan has a few cells operating out of New York Metro.  I told everything I knew about them to the Feds!  You just like torturing me!  Don’t you!”

“You didn’t tell the Feds you sold seeds of the Florntok’kio plant?”

Buddy’s face went white.

Danny shook his head. “Buddy…Florntok’kio an endangered, highly poisonous, highly illegal plant species.  A species evolved in the Savage Land for hundreds of thousands of years in isolation, at an altitude where only mutant goats and giant lizards could possibly eat it.  It’s a species that could throw an entire ecosystem into upheaval if breeding gets out of hand!  There are dozens of ways to synthesize the poison into hallucinogens or sedative.  I know because I got knocked flat by it not too long ago*, and I had walking nightmares for three days afterward.  Only the Protoclan’s Chicago cell has been implicated in a theft of a Botanical Gardens where they could get their hands on Florntok’kio.  That means you.” Danny pointed at Buddy. “So who did you sell them to?”

(*- the living weapon of K’un L’un was rendered unconscious by the drug in Max2000 #24 - Bryan)

Buddy suddenly stammered, “I…I, uhhh, I didn’t sell anything!  I swear!”

“Buddy, we know you did.” Iron Fist said. “There’s no point in covering up for the Foolkiller.  This guy’s a cold-blooded killer, and its not like he can get to you when you’re locked up in here--”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” Buddy yelled. “I didn’t sell anything to anybody called Foolkiller!  I’ve never heard any such name!  I didn’t sell anything to get my revenge on you.  I’m not an arms dealer, like those lying liars in the Protoclan!  I acted alone!” He shook a tiny fist when he said it.

Deathlok said, “He’s telling the truth, or at least thinks he is.  I’m analyzing his voice, and his heartbeat.”

“Don’t play with us, fool!” Cage roared. “How’d this jive make it to New York, if you didn’t sell it?  Huh?  You playin’ with us?  You workin’ with this killer?!” Luke jerked his shoulders, like he was going to dive under the table.

Instinctively, Buddy huddled further into a ball. “Ah!  Ahhh!  No no no!  I swear I’m not!  Don’t hurt me!”

Deathlok and Luke chuckled at each other.  Iron Fist smirked, but didn’t move from where he was.   Danny said, “Okay, Buddy.  So you didn’t sell the plants to the Foolkiller.  But what did you do with them?  The FBI told us they didn’t confiscate any plant species at all when they cleared out the warehouse.”

Buddy cleared his throat before he spoke. “I, uh, well…I kept the plants.  At home.” He looked up and saw the frowns on the faces of the Heroes For Hire.  He quickly continued. “They blossom into really beautiful flowers if you’ve ever seen them…which is why the lizards and goats keep eating them despite the poison.  Two days before I tried to kill you, I donated them to charity along with everything else in my apartment.”

Iron Fist couldn’t help but look at Luke and ‘Lok, and saw they were similarly puzzled.  Danny looked back at Buddy. “What charity?”

Buddy suddenly had a wide snarl on his face. “The one charity that actually helped me deal with the depression you ‘heroes’ projected upon me!  The one charity that actually tried to help me.  Not because it was their job--but because they really care!  I donated everything I had to the Stacy Foundation!”

That Very Moment

New York City

“That’s it!  That’s it!” Frank Castle yelled.  He jumped and the entire frame of the white van shook with him.  But he quieted, so he could hear the Heroes For Hire.  The reception from Chicago was not that great…on purpose, of course.  The signal strength had to be kept low…

“So that’s it then?  Back to the Big Apple?”

“Right, Deathlok.  We have to.  I know we’ve each got some personal issues we gotta work out, but we can’t go about those till we finish up this contract with Jameson.  Larry, we’re gonna need the jet.”

“Fist, I don’t think we can trust what that fool’s sayin’ in there…feels like we dunno what we’re up against.”

“We may not have all the pieces, Luke, but we’ve got enough to see a bit of the picture.  Who knows what else we’re missing?  I’ll call Betty back and tell her what we’ve found.  Maybe she can illuminate us.  Now, let’s just hope nothing unexpected pops up between us and the Foolkiller.”

The Punisher switched off the signal to the bug he’d planted on Deathlok back during their encounter with the Foolkiller.*  He didn’t want to listen in too much, lest the cyborg suddenly become aware of the signal emanating from the small, sleek vibranium needle lodged in the rubber sole of his boot.

(*- Max2000 issue 27 - Bryan)

Castle knew enough about exotic poisons to know that the Florntok’kio plant had to be grown under very particular conditions.  The Foolkillers could only set something like that up in a few places in the city, but the Stacy Foundation would have access to the very best.  Castle knew he had to work fast to find which place was most likely, since it would probably only take the Heroes For Hire a little over an hour to make it back to New York.  A showdown with the H4H was the last thing he needed, especially after his last confrontation with the cyborg…Castle thought grimly about how he’d mistaken this Deathlok for a previous incarnation*--So that was probably why I almost got my ass kicked.  This Deathlok seems much more in control of himself, which makes him much deadlier.

(* - Ha!  I’ll award myself that no-prize, thank you very much - Bryan)

And the Foolkillers are psycho enough for one night.  Hopefully I can take care of this without running into any of these masked types…

Castle rolled to his right along the matted interior of the van.  He had a masterful computer set-up in the van, but it was precariously hodge-podge.  Wires ran over and under humming, heavy machines.  A giant satellite dish sat propped to one side.  Monitors and televisions, each connected to routers, would blink through the various different operations the Punisher was keeping his eye on.  Of course, ammunition and various firearms were also strung about the back of the van, each always within an arm’s reach.

Putting on a makeshift blonde wig and a fake moustache, Castle crawled into the driver’s seat.  If he was going to beat the H4H to the punch, he needed to get some reconnaissance done.  The engine grumbled to life as Castle connected the two wires underneath the steering wheel.  Pulling onto the brightly lit Stamford parkway, the Punisher rolled on to his next destination.

The Daily Bugle Offices

Breaking Dawn

“So what’re you gonna do now?” Arnie said with a huff.  “You gonna call Helen?”

Jonah looked at him and shrugged.  Samson and Dolan had already gone off on whatever lead Arnie’s info had given them, while Betty Brant had hastened herself to make a phone call to the Heroes For Hire.  Jonah said, “I’ll probably call Arthur.”

Arnie judged Jonah carefully. “You got his number?”

Jonah patted his slacks for his cell phone. “Yeah, I got--”

“No, not that one.  The new one.” Arnie whipped out his phone. “I’ll text it to you.  But you should call Helen.  This is something she would want to know about--”

“We’re not telling Helen.” It was a voice of a newcomer.  The door to Jonah’s office swiftly shut behind him.  No one had heard him open it.

“Arthur.” Jonah and Arnie said in unison.

Arthur Stacy walked swiftly to Jonah’s desk, and planted his palms there.  His long, brown trench coat hung over his shoulders and arms, like a shroud.  His face was pale, his eyes grey.  He judged Jonah carefully. “Think about what you’re doing.”

Jonah laughed. “I’ve thought about it!  It’s all I’ve been able to think about.” He put his own palms on his desk, to mimic and challenge Arthur. “But if you don’t want to tell Helen, fine.  That isn’t going to change the fact that this story is breaking tomorrow morning.  She’s gonna find out no matter what.”

Arthur rasped, “Dammit, Jonah.  Give me one more edition.  Let me…” and his voice slowed, “…just let me find out for sure.”

Jonah eyed him, and shook his head. “No.  I know for sure.  And there’s only one reason you don’t.”

Arthur looked breathless.  But he said, “Jonah…this is my son we’re talking about.  And the Foundation is all that’s left of George’s legacy.” He panted, “Even Helen knows that.  This would destroy her.  It might destroy everything we’ve worked--”

“Ha!” Jonah threw up his hands. “What you’ve worked for!  What about what I’ve worked for?!  My journalistic integrity was chewed up and spit out!  Forced to give that wall-crawling menace more time on the front page, just to keep my family safe.  Well, I’ve worked day and night, and now I’ve got him.  And who do I find financing a whole damn killing spree?!” Jonah’s nose wrinkled, and he loosened his tie. “An activist group.  A group bearing the name of Captain George Stacy…a man who we could blame for this whole mess in the first place!”

Arthur was shocked, clearly by the look on his face.  Jonah didn’t back down.

“Oh yeah, I’ve thought about this long and hard over the years, Arthur.  Do you remember what it was like when George Stacy died?  The heroic police captain!  The face of the NYPD in the days when vigilantism felt like some kind of new moral fad.  He did everything in his power to voice the rights of vigilantes, didn’t he?  And when he died, heroically--by Christ, he was always a hero, I could never argue otherwise, and when he died saving an innocent bystander, it was like America dawned an age of acceptance.  They lost all faith in law-abiding enforcers of peace, and suddenly saw individuals as the only way to police the rapidly-approaching future.  Police unions, teachers unions, city workers unions--ha!  They all stand up for vigilante rights!  They say these bozos make them safer!  They use that same argument that’s been used over and over again, ever since it was first used by George Stacy himself!  People think its actually acceptable to put on masks and call each other funny names, and decide for themselves what is justice!  They’ve got it all backwards, and it’s because of your brother!”

Jonah had barely put the words out of his mouth before Arthur Stacy threw his fist at it.  Jonah was sent sprawling backward, collapsing against the wall behind his desk.  Arnie jumped up.

“Don’t you ever talk like that about my dead brother.” Arthur said simply. “I don’t care what my son has done.  I don’t care what kind of father it makes me.  This does not reflect on my brother.”

Now, Arnie had to butt in. “Heh.  You really think that, Arthur?  You think that’s what the newspapers and all the editorials are going to be saying tomorrow?  You know the money from the Stacy Foundation doesn’t just go to civil service.  It funds liberal think-tanks and vigilante-rights groups.  You think that any of them are going to survive this scandal?” Arnie put his half-gone cigarette to hang between his lips, and scratched his scalp. “I mean, even the NYPD ain’t gonna make it outta this one easy.” He stepped back. “Don’t punch me in the face for saying so.”

“You know he’s right, Arthur.” Jonah got to his feet, leaning against the wall behind him. “You’ve checked out the documents for yourself, I’ve let you see what I’ve seen.  And it’s not just what McGuffin here has been able to drag out of the woodwork, I got other sources too--”

“Like whom?” Arthur said, sounding clearly desperate.  It was almost hard for Arnie to look at him.

“Like me!” The door swung open, much more loudly this time.  A tall man marched toward the three men.  He wore a matching black suit and tie, with dark red sunglasses.  Arthur was about to call him ‘Matthew’ but Jonah said--

“Arthur Stacy, I’m not sure you’ve met Mike Murdock.”

Arthur straightened his posture, tried to hide the tired expression of his bones.  But he was sure to judge this ‘Mike’ Murdock carefully.  He stuck out his hand. “I’ve worked with Matt Murdock on quite a few cases, but he’s never mentioned anyone like a bro--”

“I don’t have time for introductions.” Mike Murdock ignored Arthur’s hand, instead pulling a rolled file from the inside of his jacket.  He tossed it onto Jonah’s desk.  “That’s what we agreed, Jameson.  I scratched your back:  I looked over the Stacy Foundation’s war chest, and its all lies.  Phony accounts and capital, all used to prop up the Foundation’s credit.  Credit that was ruined by the late Timothy Wolfe’s busted therapy project.  The only name I’ve been able to link with that therapy project was a patient named Rebecca Jent, wife of the late Oscorp CEO, Ryan Jent.  Rebecca was murdered last week by the Punisher, hours after she murdered Angelo Fortunato.”

“What did you just say?” Arthur asked, “How did you gain access to the Foundation’s confidential records?  Did you steal them?”

Mike slowly craned his neck at the man he had just ignored.  “Arthur Stacy.  If I thought your ignorance in this matter was in the least bit false or intentional, then I would’ve already made my grievances known to you.” Then he took a step toward Arthur. “But, since things are so far out of your control at this point, I’m not going to even bother with you.”

“Hey, Murdock.” Jonah snapped. “Back off.  Your job is over now.”

“Like hell it is!” With a whip of his neck, Mike looked at Arnie. “You.” His nostrils flared. His snarl deepened. “Tell me what I’m missing.”

Arnie shrugged. “You don’t scare me with your demonic lawyer routine, Murdock.  Your brother never does either, the grimy do-gooder.” He pointed to the Times on Jonah’s desk. “Stick to the headlines.”

Mike grasped the newspaper, and then shook it straight to read the emboldened headline at the bottom of the front page:

‘Stacy Foundation Awarded Triune Grant in 3 Yr Deal’

Mike threw the paper down in sudden, quick disgust.  “They’re gonna get away with it all!  With a half-billion dollar contract, it’ll be real easy to cover their own tracks.  They have to be taken down fast.” Now, Mike leaned over the desk. “When I say fast, I mean tonight.”

Jonah, with a quick glance at Arthur, and a soft pat of his swollen jaw, said, “We know where he’s going to be tonight.  We’re going to confront him about this, and we’re going public in the morning.  The edition’s already been sent to the presses.”

Mike Murdock shook his head. “Details.  I want to know more.”

Arthur Stacy suddenly dashed toward the open door of Jonah’s office.  He moved with a purpose.  Mike didn’t look after him, but Arnie and Jonah traded glances.

“Where do you think he’s going?” Arnie stabbed his cigarette out in the ashtray.

Jonah worked out the kinks in his jaw. “If I had one guess, I’d say he’s going to ask Spider-Man to prove me wrong.”

Four Hours Later

New York City

“So there it is.”

“It’s the only possible place.”

Spider-Man turned from the binoculars in his hand, and looked down again at the info displayed on the tablet in his other.  He tried pronouncing the word with a Savage Land accent, “Florntok’kio.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe it.  Doc Connors’ old lab at ESU!  The one he worked at with Gilbert Wiles.  Of course, the lab’s been shut down ever since Wiles’ murder*, but anyone could break in…”

(*-in the Amazing Spider-Man Annual 2007 - Bryan, who doesn’t think 2007 was that long ago)

The Black Widow stood there, hunched as Spider-Man was, overlooking the Empire State University Science Center.  Her trademark black jumpsuit shined a little in the evening sun.  Cool breezes swirled her crimson locks, so she tried to tuck them behind her ears, lest they block the lens of the binoculars at her eyes.  She said, with a strangely calming Russian accent, “Actually, it’s underneath the Science Center--there’s an experimental underground greenhouse, which lost funding when Connors and Wiles got that extravagant half-billion dollar grant…”

“A contract that belongs to the Stacy Foundation now that the Freedom Ring project, and the Connors-Wiles research was dropped.  It was probably easy for the Foundation to secure access to the greenhouse.  And with the whole Center inactive since the murder, it was the perfect place to raise the plants.  Natasha, thank you so much.  I seriously owe you one for--”

“Don’t worry about it.” the Black Widow replied, with a grim grin, “It was the least I could do after that whole incident with Mister Fear…or whoever he was trying to be.*  Besides, it wasn’t that hard for me to track down something like this.  Special hydroponics equipment mostly ordered online, delivered here.  Paid through third parties each time, never by the Foundation itself.  Names like Anderson, Jent…even the Wilkins Memorial Youth Center, and that’s not scheduled to be opened for a few weeks.  They didn’t try to cover their tracks too hard…I found the coroner’s report rather easily.  The NYPD’s been letting things slip through the cracks.”

(*- that Tookie award-winning team-up took place in Black Widow issue 23 -  Bryan)

Spider-Man slumped. “Yeah, I picked up on that…”

Black Widow frowned. “Any idea why?”

Spidey nodded. “The Stacy Foundation was founded a long time ago by Arthur and Helen Stacy, in honor of Captain George Stacy…and over the last decade, it’s helped countless families of police officers killed in superhuman skirmishes.  It started out so small, but over the years, it’s just gotten bigger and bigger.  Their charter requires a Stacy to be on the board at all times.  Helen--George’s widow--is a longtime member of the board, but Arthur resigned a few years after the whole thing started.  It was never his thing.  But he got Helen to give Paul some kind of job within the Foundation.  He probably thought it would keep Paul out of trouble…”

Spidey sighed again and continued, “But the NYPD…” he shrugged a little, “and I’m just guessing here, but maybe they didn’t want to be responsible for the destruction of the Foundation, something that’s become so essential to their job.  I mean, if you had to answer a call to arrest Electro, you’d better have peace of mind that someone’s thinking about your family’s well-being.”

The Black Widow said simply, “And I take it you suspect Paul Stacy?  Do you think he’s the Foolkiller?”

“I…don’t know.” Spider-Man shrugged.

Black Widow crossed her arms. “That is a lie.”

Spidey threw up his hands. “Really!  I don’t want to say I’m sure about anything.  I…don’t know why the Foundation would want anything to do with the Foolkiller at all, and when I saw the guy’s face…it reminded me of someone I knew, but…”  The wall-crawler huffed. “It wasn’t Paul Stacy’s face, that’s for sure.  Paul…I know he took his sister’s death hard, and it wasn’t too long ago he overdosed*…I just never figured he’d be some kind of killer.  But there’s no denying the Foundation has profited in different ways from the Foolkiller’s list of victims.  I want to give him the benefit of the doubt…”

(*-this was in M2K’s new classic ASM issue 25 - Bryan)

Natasha grasped his shoulder, and Spider-Man seemed a little unnerved by it.  She asked, “So, you’re friends with him, then?”

Spidey said, “No.”  His shoulders languished. “I don’t think we were ever truly friends.”

“Good.” the Black Widow turned from him. “Because we have a job to do tonight, and I don’t need to worry about your nerve.”

Spider-Man suddenly stiffened. “What?  Wait…what?  No, Natasha, I just wanted you to find their super-secret, fool-killing headquarters, which you have, thankyousomuch, but I don’t--”

The Black Widow put up her finger for him to quiet. “Shh.  You say that your photographer--Parker--is attending the Stacy gala at ESU’s Buscema Center, yes?  I’ll be outside on the roof when it gets dark--you’ll meet me there.  If there’s any sign of this Foolkiller, whether it’s Stacy or otherwise then we’ll--”

“Look, ahhh…” Spidey coughed in his fist. “Let’s not do that.  We should just meet up if there’s an actual emergency that goes down.  Who knows what might happen?  Maybe nothing at all.”

The Widow squinted at him for a couple seconds before replying. “Are you attending the gala in your civilian identity?  You’re going with Parker?  That’s why you can’t meet me?  Is that what I’m inferring?”

Spidey nervously scratched his scalp. “Oh, uh, yeah, right…that’s absolutely right.  There’s no getting past you super-spies, is there?”

“You could’ve just said that.  I know how it is.” Natasha brushed her hair to one side again to check the binoculars. “Sometimes I wish I had a secret identity, like you or Matt.  But…I’ll be on the roof tonight if anything unexpected happens.  I can count on you?”

Spider-Man blurted, “Of course you can!”

The Black Widow smiled, and said, “Hey, maybe you’re right.  Maybe nothing will happen at all…”

Six Hours Later

“I cannot believe nothing is happening!” Stacey Dolan slammed her hands against the steering wheel.

Leonard Samson laughed, and gazed through a pair of binoculars that looked almost humorously small in his large hands, against his bulky face. “Patience, Stacey.  Quite a virtue, you know.  Isn’t this what the police lovingly refer to as ‘the stakeout’?”

“This is the most obvious place.” Stacey sighed. “It’s been shut down ever since the Wiles murder but…” She closed her eyes and rubbed her temple and sipped at her coffee. “I can’t believe that two-bit hack McGuffin was right!  There’s some kind of…I don’t know if you can even call it a conspiracy!  It’s like I told you, Len--it feels like the NYPD is burying everything the Foolkiller does under bureaucracy.  You have no idea how many cases are delayed because of misplaced paperwork, or vacationing clerks…Internal Affairs brushed me off and said they’d ‘get back to me’.  Hell, what can I expect?  Even this dead lieutenant, Chase, had been burying the murders for weeks before he finally grew a pair and--”

Suddenly, Samson leaned forward, hunched, pressing the binoculars hard against his massive face.

“What?” Stacey pulled up her own binoculars from where they hung at her neck. “What do you…whoa…” Gazing in the same direction Samson was, there was no doubt what he was watching.

A manhole cover had been slipped easily aside in the distance.  Slinking upward through the gap, hulking, reflecting the white moon off its scales, was a monster.  Elongated snout, slithering tongue, and a hunched frame that only revealed its true size when it cleared the eight-foot fence in a single jump.  Its tail followed after, and was the last thing lost in the shadows.

“Oh my god…was that…?”

“His name was Curt Connors.” Samson said. “But when he takes that form, he has no true name.  The press likes to call him ‘the Lizard’.” Samson opened his door. “His personality in that form is usually psychotic.  Animalistic on better days.”

“You’re going after it?!” Stacey yelled. “Are you crazy?!  I have to call for back-up!  You cannot go in there, Leonard.  You’ll be alone against that thing--”

“I’m not so sure I’ll be alone.” Samson said, standing fully outside the car.  He leaned down to peer inside at Stacey. “Maybe the reason we haven’t seen anyone go in or out…is because the Foolkillers are already inside.  You said it yourself, there’s an underground greenhouse.  Maybe there’s another entryway…”

“I still can’t let you go in alone.” Stacey opened her door.

“You have to.” Samson stopped her. “I’m the only one here who could take on the Lizard…as much as I really hate foreseeing that possibility.  Just get help, and make sure you don’t leave me down there alone with him, or them, for too long.  Who knows what might happen?”

Samson then trotted into a run, away from the car, across a vacant parking lot, toward the makeshift chain link fence that had been put around the Science Center.  Much like the Lizard, with one leap, Doc Samson was over it and lost in the shadows around the building.  Stacey watched until then, when she started up her car, and slowly drove out and away, to where she could find help.  Help with a capital ‘H4H’.

As she hurriedly drove down the abandoned stretch of road of the campus, Stacey breezed by a large, white van with Connecticut plates sitting empty along the side of the road.  One of the wheels was off the ground, on a jack, as though it needed repair.  If Stacey had looked closer, she’d have seen the tire was fine.

Frank Castle made sure Stacey had driven clear out of sight before he jumped from the back doors of the van, and booked it toward the Science Center.

A Few Minutes Earlier…

Underneath the ESU Science Center

He had been shaking, grunting, grinding his teeth, sweating, panting, asleep.  Paul finally woke him up after about five hours of it.  Only a simple nudge did the trick.  Ben Anderson jolted awake, leaping and grabbing Paul first at the collar, and then at the shoulder when he remembered where he was:  on a cot, in a giant room meant to lecture college students.

“Water.” Paul motioned with a nod at the side table. “That always helps, trust me.”

Ben snagged the plastic bottle from where it sat, uncapped, and filmy.  Unflinchingly, he downed the whole thing in monotonous chugs.  Paul pulled at his wrist. “Breathe, man.”

“Where is everybody?” Ben craned his neck to look around.  It was a trifle dark.  Only the lights on the far side of the lecture hall were lit.

“They’re waiting for us.  Valley has apparently brought someone in who can help us.” Paul said simply, “So, come on.  Get up.  The party’s already started a couple blocks down at the Buscema Center.  I can’t linger.”

That’s when Ben noticed that Paul was indeed dressed in a sharp black and white tuxedo, holding a long wool overcoat over his shoulder.  Ben rubbed his eyes, and was aware of the pain in his shoulder coming back to him.  He didn’t want to look under the broad, layered bandages at the damage inflicted by the Lizard.* “And I have to be there when?”

(*-ASM issue 47 - Bryan)

“One hour.” Paul started to walk out the door to the hallway. “We have to make this work, Ben.  We’re getting a few extra guests.  Like Jameson and his crew.  They’ve finally caught on, I think.  They were last minutes additions to the guest list.  Who knows who else is going to show up?  Maybe the web-slinger.  My father is going to be there…”

“Your father?” Ben suddenly whipped his head toward him. “Isn’t he some kind of private investigator?”

Paul shrugged. “He’s not a problem.  Just stick to the plan, Ben.  Everything will be fine.”

Ben rose from the bed, and joined Paul in the walk down the lonely abandoned hallways of the sub-basement of the ESU Science Center.  They passed other unused, yet vast classrooms, stripped long ago of any desks or laboratory equipment from this once state-of-the-art ESU botany department.  They could hear voices in the distance, ones that got louder as they drew wearily down the white-tiled, fluorescently-lit corridor.  Abruptly, the tile and the light changed.  Their heels clicked on concrete now, echoing off pipes and stone walls.

Paul eyed Ben closely as they walked down the narrow hall.  Ben’s shoulders slumped, his arms didn’t sway when he walked, and he seemed to throw his legs forward with each step.  His dark jeans and tee were stained darker with days of old sweat.  Deep circles lined his bulging eyes, and his nose was ruby red.  Paul asked, “When was the last time you ate something, Ben?”

Ben sighed, closed his eyes and thought about it briefly. “I ate some Lucky Charms this morning.  Just been taking the pill regiment, like you said.  I don’t like eating…or sleeping, really…”

Paul didn’t respond.  They had arrived at their destination.

The ESU underground greenhouse was expansive.  A glass threshold extended for about ten yards to make up the entrance to the complex.  As soon as Paul and Ben passed through it, they were bombarded with humidity.  Special reflective plates on the ceiling bounced light from the ultra-bright, energy-condensing lamps which lined the walls of the complex.  It was as bright for as far as the eyes could see.  Vents jutted from the floor, lining the reflective plates, and spewed bursts of steam every few minutes.

Plants protruded everywhere.  Walls of green bloomed from gaps in the concrete, topped by multitudes of colorful flowers.  Paul sneezed, and pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket.  Wiping his nose, he said, “God I hate it in here.” Paul started down a path, one of a few that wound into the lush labyrinth.  Ben followed, since he was never sure where to go when he was in the actual greenhouse.

But the voices were actually audible now.

“You mean you got him out of jail this morning?  Just like that?”

“Well, he does have to meet with his parole officer tomorrow, but he was an exemplary inmate--”

“Are you joking?!  The cops probably have this guy on their watch list right now!”

“I told you, Michael, we don’t have to worry about the police just yet…I think I’ve scared that idiot Gainey enough that we’ve still got a couple days before everything comes to light about--”

“If I could please have everyone’s attention for a moment…” Paul began even before he and Ben had rounded the corner to see them all.

Paul froze.  Ben almost ran into his back.
 

“What--?” Ben murmured.

There didn’t seem to be anything new, at first.  The gang was all there:  Judge Reginald Valley (he was so intimidating, probably the oldest of them all and Ben never looked him in the eye), Michael and Janice Wilkins (they were always touching each other somehow--even now, linking fingers like that--and Ben kind of hated them for it), and the lawyer Roosevelt Nelson (he was so fat, and smelled so rotten, Ben never got close to him).  There was the complex laboratory platform, complete with all the standard wet lab equipment.  In addition, makeshift cots and mattresses lay about, with dirty blankets strewn across them.  Coolers and a couple refrigerators were propped up along the perimeter of the lab, along with a few opened laptops, and a television.  Crates upon crates of bottled water were stacked high across the counters.  The whole set-up didn’t smell very pleasant.

But then, that’s how it always was.  Ben had lost count of how many hours he had spent hiding down here.  It had been long enough to learn basic self-defense (both the Wilkins were veterans of the Gulf) and how to make homemade explosives (Paul had printed out some stuff off the internet) and how to shoot weapons (since Valley was a firm believer in the second amendment, whatever that meant).  It was starting to feel more like a home to him than anywhere else in the world.  There was just one thing different that Ben could see--

“Greg Salinger.” Paul said simply.  His eyes were hooked on the blonde man in front of him.

“Ah.” Salinger smiled and slammed his fist on the desk where he was sitting.  The ceramic pot that held the Florntok’kio rattled. “Now, I recognize that voice.  You must be Paul.”

Silence, then.  Paul Stacy and Greg Salinger stared at one another.  Everyone else stole quick looks at everyone else.

Paul finally looked at Valley.  “I thought we talked about this, your honor.”

Valley sighed. “We did.  But I talked it over with Michael and Janice, and with Roosevelt in his position, we decided…Paul, we decided together, that it was time for the endgame.”

“Ha!” Paul barked.  Then, he looked around, and saw that nobody was sharing his sentiment.  He gave a grave stare to Salinger, and then looked back at Valley. “You decided?  How?” He looked at the Wilkins. “When?” Then, he turned back to Ben. “Did you ask him?”

Valley shook his head. “He’s just a boy, Paul.  We shouldn’t have brought him into this in the first place.”

Ben stiffened.  He did not like being called that.  Paul noticed, and stood next to him.

“Oh?  And you’re the one who’s man enough to make that decision, eh?” Paul said, “Was Rebecca Jent just another child who didn’t deserve vengeance either?”

Valley said nothing.

“This isn’t about you, Valley!” Paul screamed. “This is about getting what we deserve!  And you think you can just judge all of us, like we were just some junkie defendants in your courtroom!”

Valley still remained silent.  Even Greg Salinger stayed quiet, though he looked like he was enjoying Paul’s display.  Paul gazed over at Roosevelt Nelson.

“And you!” Paul stormed over to him.  Without any hesitation, he brutally back-handed Nelson across his fat face.  Everyone cringed at the slap; Janice gasped a little.  Nelson stumbled backward.  “You!  Who do you think you’re trying to fool!” Paul didn’t let up.  He slammed his fists right in Nelson’s mouth again, twice. “With Roosevelt in his ‘position’?  Don’t make me laugh!”

“Ah!” Nelson wailed. “Stop!  Make him stop!  I deserve this as much as you do!  My brother Foggy was killed by Bullseye!  I deserve vengeance, Paul!  Please!  Stop!  I don’t deserve this!”

“You miserable fraud!” Paul wringed him at the collar. “You really believe that!  You’re nothing without me!  I brought you here!  I created you!  You can’t take sides against me!  Without me, you’re nothing but  a faceless crook!”  Two more times, across the face.  Ben grimaced as Nelson’s face jiggled with force.

“Jesus, Paul, stop!” Valley said, but he didn’t make a move.  Neither did the Wilkins.  Neither did Salinger.  Ben rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet.

“You just need to be put in your place, that’s all.” Paul knocked Roosevelt once more across the jaw.  It felt loose, limp, so Paul just decided to tear the whole thing off.  The rolls that made up Roosevelt Nelson’s triple-layered chin came off easily when he pulled at them.  He casually tossed them aside. “You need to remember who put you where you are, Chameleon!”

The Chameleon looked at his demolished costume and gave a slight whimper. “Now why’d you have to go and do that?”

“Paul!” Valley yelled. “You realize how long it took to engrain the Nelson identity in him?  We still could’ve used him to tie up a few more loose ends, now who knows if--”

“Shut up.” Paul barked. “You’re the one calling for the end of it all, but you forget that I’m the one who put this together in the first place.  I used the Chameleon, and his false identity, to fake the documents so we could skip a few steps in the legal process.  As a result, we got exclusive access to this decommissioned greenhouse, and we buried the murders at the NYPD under paperwork.  The American legal system is easy for an ex-KGB to fake, isn’t it?” Paul kicked the masked goon.  The Chameleon whined.  Then Paul turned back to Valley. “And we had the help of a district circuit judge, as if things weren’t already foolproof!” Paul turned to the rest of them. “We almost have everything we want.  Maybe more.  Why would we want to cash in everything now?  Why would we ever?”

“Because that wasn’t the deal, Paul!” Michael Wilkins pointed a finger at him. “I don’t care if that Russian schizo runs away at this point, I’m just tired of this bullshit.  I want it done.  I know none of this is going to bring my son back.  This whole ‘Foolkiller’ bullshit was never supposed to catch on.  But you’re liking this, ain’t you?”
 

Paul laughed again. “Are you really asking me that?!  I can’t believe this!  I used--we used the Foolkiller identity as a front, simple as that.  I took the name from an old campus killer and urban legend.  Yet Valley actually gets the man out of prison.  And you’re asking me that question!”

Salinger now, slammed his hand on the table again.  The pot of Florntok’kio shimmied and tilted again, but did not spill.  Salinger said, “I must point out two things.” He did not wait for Paul to allow him to continue, “Firstly, you made phone calls to me, Paul.  You wanted to brag to someone about your conquests.  Don’t try to deny it, I know the feeling.  Its why I put on a mask and costume in the first place.  You have to brag about it, don’t you, Paul?  You don’t want to be the only one who understands the simple brilliance of it all, and you want to share.  You want people to pay attention and you want to show them what they don’t understand.” Salinger took a breath. “And secondly, Valley and the rest of them clearly don’t think you have the brass to finish the job.”

Paul became visibly unnerved.  He shook, clinching his fists at his side.  Salinger stood up.

“That’s right, Paul.” Salinger said softly. “This is a vote of no-confidence.”

“Bastard!” Paul screamed. “You don’t know what we’ve been through!  And we agreed that we wouldn’t end it until we accomplished certain goals--”

“We’ve done all that, Paul!” Michael called again. “The money for my sister Joannah’s family finally came through.  It’s over.  You heard the judge too:  pretty soon, everybody’s gonna be on to us.”

Janice stood up straight, and spoke like she was completing her husband’s thoughts. “We’ve done what we wanted to do.  The youth center in our boy’s name is going to stand forever, reminding everyone what we lost.  Maybe it’ll remind people what kind of danger these vigilante fools put our children in every day!”

“And what about Spider-Man?” Paul blurted.

Nobody said anything.  Salinger’s eyes widened.

“Wasn’t that part of the deal?!” Paul yelled at all of them. “Why does everyone get what they want, but I don’t get Spider-Man!” He pointed at Valley. “What about your son?  Spider-Man killed him that day in the Starbucks with reckless abandon!” He pointed at the Wilkins. “He was present when both your son and your sister were killed!” He turned to the Chameleon. “You know more than anyone here how Spider-Man can turn your life upside-down.” Then, finally, he turned to Ben. “And you’ve got to think of your father.  Look where befriending Spider-Man got him:  fired, disgraced, and dead.”

“That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?” Valley said. “The wall-crawler!  Even when we were still working with that fool Wolfe, or in the days after, when we were fighting for the Triune grant!  I knew you just wanted vengeance on Spider-Man!  It’s the whole reason you went after Connors in the first place!” Then, Valley lowered his chin. “It’s the whole reason you were the driving force behind keeping us together.  But now…” and he beckoned toward Salinger. “I’ve brought in someone who can tie up all those loose ends.”

Paul shook his head. “No!  That’s not fair!  That’s not what we agreed!” He turned again, pleadingly toward Ben, “Please.  You can’t let it end like this.  You’re with me, right, Ben?  You know this wasn’t part of the agreement, right?”

Ben stayed still, but his sullen eyes didn’t need to convey anything.  He said, “We had a pact, Paul.  It doesn’t matter if Spider-Man is dead or not.  We all made the pact.  Right, Paul?”

“We did!” Paul said, “But not him!” He pointed at Salinger.

“Right.” Salinger stood from the table.  He pulled up a simple sheet of notebook paper.  Across it, there was scrawling in pencil, and underneath that, signatures in pen.  “This would be that pact, am I correct, Paul?” Salinger stared at it, mockingly. “I like what you’ve done here, but it’s the ending that really gets me.  I think I can help you all out with that ending.”
 

“Bastard!” Paul said again. “I’m not going to stand around listening to this!” He grabbed the Chameleon, who still lay on his knees, by the collar. “You’ve got business with me.”  The Chameleon allowed himself to be dragged and pushed down the way out of the greenhouse.  Paul pointed at Ben, as he followed the Chameleon. “You better make your decision fast, Ben.  You know I need you to help me tonight.  Maybe we can finally take out Spider-Man…whether they help us or not.”

Salinger smiled.

Ben sighed. “I…I’m with you, Paul.” He gave the others a grim stare, and then drudged alongside Paul and the Chameleon on the way out.

Valley and the Wilkins then all looked at Salinger.  But Salinger was silent, with the grin still on his face.

“What do we do now?” Janice asked.

Salinger answered, as though finally noticing their presence again, “Well!  I’m going to do what you got me out of jail to do.” He looked at Valley. “I’m going to end this whole thing.” He judged the ‘pact’ in his hand once more. “Hopefully, I do it in a way that leaves everyone here very…satisfied.”

The Punisher growled, and hunched.  No, this ain’t gonna work at all…

He was about to rise, from where he had been laying, on his chest, with a sniper rifle ready.  There was a tiny hatch on the side of the Science Center, which had to be an emergency exit from some facility deep underground.  Castle had figured that was the most likely entrance for the Foolkillers, but absolutely nothing had been happening since he started recon.  He was running out of time, and had to either get in the center itself, or find another place to set up…

Then, Castle froze.  The hatch opened.  Out climbed two figures.  Castle brought the scope to his eye so he could see…

One was dressed nicely in a pressed tux, and though it was still a bit dim even with the night vision lens, the Punisher knew this was Paul Stacy.  He had seen enough pics of that guy in the newspaper since Triune finally got around to giving out that grant money.  The other figure…Castle couldn’t make out clearly.  But dressed head-to-toe in some black military get-up like a refugee from a Bruckheimer military blockbuster-- he had to be no good.

Shoot him in a kneecap, run down and get some answers, finish the job.  Easy.

The Punisher brought the rifle up a bit and--

The rifle was slammed to the ground under a size-15 Timberland boot.

“Dammit.” Castle grunted.  He looked over his shoulder, just in time to see a left fist--decorated with four golden rings proclaiming C-A-G-E--plummeting into his face.

The Punisher felt his jaw swell and his nose burst with blood.  He tried to turn over, and did, then tried to scramble back on his hands and heels, but only saw another fist coming down toward his face.  This time, it was a right fist, and another four golden rings spelled out ‘L-U-K-E’.  The other side of his jaw was soon swelling.

“Hey, Castle!” the former Power Man grabbed the Punisher by his skull-emblazoned mesh shirt. With a sharp tug, Luke pulled the Punisher off the ground, and knee-high into the air. “You think we’re stupid?” Luke brought Castle close to his face and growled. “We were onto your little bug the second Deathlok got back from New York.  We’ve been keeping tabs on you--gonna make sure you don’t get in the way this time!  Now, I’m gonna kick your ass until Code: Blue gets here to take you in.  How you like that?”

The Punisher threw a wild head butt into Cage’s nose.  “Argh!” Cage wailed, and his grip loosened.  Castle brought up the long rifle he still held, and swung the butt into Cage’s temple.  Castle was released, and dropped to his knees.  He had to rub his forehead for a second; Cage’s skull had almost given him a concussion.  Cage shook it off, and turned back to the Punisher.  But Castle had already brought up the rifle up again…directly against Cage’s chin.

-KRAK~!-

It was like shooting a rifle point-blank against a titanium bank vault.  The bullet ricocheted into the damp soil of the greenbelt overlooking the Science Center.  Cage roared, and grabbed his throat, collapsing on that same soil.  The Punisher was sure to dive backward as hard as he could manage, kicking his feet off Cage.

“Aaah!” Cage went to one knee, choking. “You--ack!-hack!-you piece of sh--hakk!  I hate guns!”

But the Punisher was already bolting toward the emergency hatch at the side of the Science Center.

“Sonovabitch!” Cage yelled.  Breaths came in burning gasps. “Don’t you try to get away, Castle!”

And Cage booked after the Punisher toward the Science Center.

Michael Wilkins sat up the second he heard the footsteps.  The gun was never far from him; the draw was pretty much instinctual at this point.  Janice had been laying on top of him, on their cot, but she held him tight when he sat up.

“Salinger!” Michael relaxed on the trigger.  Janice didn’t remove herself from his lap, but merely curled up farther into a ball against him.

Greg Salinger leaned in the doorway, sipping on a bottled water. “I think you guys better pack your stuff.  This place isn’t going to be safe after tonight.”

Michael and Janice didn’t argue.  Michael shrugged. “We don’t have any stuff.  Paul told us it would just be better if we stayed down here, so we donated all our stuff to the Stacy Foundation.”

Salinger chuckled, “Is there anything he didn’t convince you to do?”

“We didn’t care.” Michael said. “It’s not like we weren’t willing to give everything we had for the cause.  Paul…he’s a good guy.  He has reason for his extreme measures.  And we all…we were all tired of waiting for justice to come to us.  You know?  Don’t get the wrong idea…I know he made some mean phone calls to you when you were still in lockdown--”

Greg shook his hands and interrupted, “No, no, it’s not like that at all.  Really.  I get it.  More than you think I do.” He entered the lecture hall where the two Wilkins had been sleeping. “Is it…true about your son?  Is Spider-Man responsible for his death?”

Janice suddenly barked from her perch, “Yes!  God, I wish he would just accidentally fall to his death or something!  Doesn’t he ever run out of webs?  I mean, can’t he just slip sometime when he’s crawling upside-down and crack his skull open?  Can’t somebody like Electro or the Rhino just finish the damn job one of these days or--”

“Janice.” Michael pressed her head back against his chest. “Hush.” He looked back at Salinger. “I was an inner-city high school science teacher.  Everyday there were stories of drive-by shootings, or super-human violence, or alien radiation, and still children walked home from school!  It wasn’t even a second thought to us that our boy Eric would be walking home one day…and be caught in a crossfire.  Someone like Spider-Man…wasn’t he supposed to help our son?  Wasn’t he supposed to save his life?  Why did he doom our boy instead?”

Salinger smiled, and nodded.  “I fought him once.  The web-slinger.”  He closed his eyes, and sipped on the water bottle. “He bested me.  Easily, in fact.  He left me webbed up, looking like the very fools that I’m sworn to eliminate.  And…I realized…that I was a fool.  I was a fool for fighting Spider-Man.  It took years before I ceased being suicidal.  I mean…did I really think I had the power to stop Spider-Man?  Fools like the wall-crawler…we should only be so lucky to stop them with simple brute power…and fear.”

Michael squinted. “What do you mean?”

Greg laughed out loud. “Oh, never mind.” He approached Janice and Michael.  From inside the pockets of the black hoody he wore, Greg pulled out two bottles of water.  “You two should get yourselves together.  We’re gonna be leaving soon.  Here.  Drink this.  Water always helps.”

“That’s what Paul says.” Michael took the bottles of water, and handed one to his wife.

“Hmm…” Greg smiled, “Well, that’s probably because he drugged all these bottles with Florntok’kio.  It’s how he was able to influence you, you realize that don’t you?  If you went too long without drinking the water, you would start to flush the drug out of your system…with great anger and anxiety.  Does it make you happy to know you were manipulated like that?”

Michael shrugged again and kept chugging the water.  Janice, still bundled in his arms, opened the twist-cap and started to drink, in slow sips at first, and then in long gulps.  Michael said, after a breath, “I helped Paul devise the proper dosage for the bottles.  Besides, it was good for us.  The drugs…helped us.  It’s no different than when a young student receives meds to help him focus, or study.  We realized…we realized…”

Janice looked over her shoulder at Greg.  Her pupils were wide. “We realized that we were righteous.  That there’s no turning back.  That we were committed.”

Greg smirked. “But weren’t you ever worried?  Worried that maybe Paul would get the dosage wrong?  Florntok’kio is a very dangerous substance…one mishap and a human can die instantly…”

Michael and Janice looked at each other.  Janice answered, “That risk was never a problem.”

Greg’s smile widened. “I am so happy to hear that.”

Suddenly--

“Greg!  Greg!  Michael!  Oh god!  Janice!  Greg!  Oh god Greg where the hell are you?!”

Salinger peered into the fluorescent, tiled distance. “Valley?”

Indeed, Judge Tucker Valley rounded a corner, running.  His wingtips slapped the tile, echoing down the hallway.  His tie slapped his face as he ran.  Panting, he finally reached Greg, and clutched him by the shoulders.  “We have a big problem!  Big problem!  Greg!  We need to get out of here right now!”  Sweat beads dripped from his hairline down to his chin, and his eyes would bolt from one direction to the other, not through any physical fault of his own.

The Wilkins didn’t register the panic.  They stretched, yawned, on the cot.

Greg clutched Valley by the shoulders as well. “Valley…your honor, I need you to calm down.”

“It’s here!  It’s here!  I’m telling you,” Valley pulled Greg closer, “I’m telling you!  It’s here!”

Greg started to massage Valley at the shoulders.  Valley visibly started to calm.  He let out a long sigh, and Greg intensified the pressure.  Valley rolled his neck from side to side, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head.  His pupils were the size of nickels.

“There.” Greg said. “Do you feel better?” He reached into his hoody again, revealing another bottled water. “You look thirsty.  Here.  Why don’t you try this?  Water always helps…right?”

Valley nodded.  He snatched the bottle from Greg’s hand, and had it open and pouring into his mouth just two seconds later.  After downing half of it, Valley paused to take in a gasp.  He said, “You don’t understand.  We have to start running.”

Greg took another sip of his own water. “Why?”

Valley was still panting. “I went to follow Paul, to make sure he actually did what he said he was going to do.  I went down to the emergency hatch, but…but-but-but the hatch had been torn open!”

Greg furled his brow. “You mean someone opened it?  It was probably just maintenance--”

Valley shook his head frantically. “No…I mean something literally ripped it open.  And then, when I was standing there…I-I-I heard a gun shot!  A loud gun shot, like it was just yards away!  They’re here!  I knew it!  There’s no escape now, Greg!”

Greg tried to speak slowly, “Valley…don’t panic.  This is what I’m here for.  We’ll leave now--”

“No!” Valley yelled, “You don’t understand!  The Lizard is here!”
 

Then the lights cut out.

“Oh shit.” Michael pushed Janice off him.

Janice fell to the ground with a whimper, but then pulled herself up, clutching Michael’s arm. “What happened?  What’s going on?”

Dim, emergency lights blinked to life.  It was still quite dark.

“The Lizard!” Valley yelled. “I told Stacy not to do it!  I told him not to toy with a monster!  But he told me--he told me, he said Connors would be easy to manipulate with the placebo formula and now look--”

Greg grabbed Valley’s collar and shoved him into the wall. “Calm down.  Don’t start acting like a--”

“Say it!”

The Foolkillers looked around for the voice, for it didn’t belong to any of the four of them.  But as they peered down the hallway toward the greenhouse…it only faded into darkness.  Peering the other way, toward the halls leading to the upper levels of the Science Center…again, only darkness.

Michael clutched Janice with an arm around her waist, clutched his pistol in his other.  Valley was pressed up, frozen against the wall Greg had given him.

Greg Salinger moved into a defensive position and called into the darkness, “Fools!  Cowards!”

There was deriding laughter, from somewhere.

“Did you hear that, Larry?  He called you a coward!”

“I did, Danny.  Called you a fool, if I’m not mistaken.  I thought Luke was the only person who actually called anybody ‘fool’ anymore!”

In the distance, down the hall, a red light suddenly blinked into view.  Then, the light moved closer, and still closer.  As it did, heavy stomps grew louder and louder.

Finally, the Foolkillers saw Deathlok.

“Run.” Greg whispered.

“What?” Michael had his gun aimed at the thing in the distance.  He didn’t even know what to make of--

“I said run!” Greg turned on his heel and darted down the hallway toward the greenhouse.  Michael was quickly after him, clutching Janice’s wrist, pulling her along with him.  Valley was the last one to follow, peeling himself off the wall.

Deathlok bellowed, “Dead end, killers!  How does it feel?!”

The Foolkillers arrived at the greenhouse, and found even less illumination.  But they kept running, trampling through the foliage, until they were finally at their camp, in the center.  A lone, orange fluorescent lamp hung over the encampment.  They found someone there waiting for them.  Someone with a sword.

Iron Fist was reading from a tiny spiral notebook. “I can hardly read this chicken-scratch.” He waved the notebook at them. “But I think I get the gist of it.  Nasty little cookbook.”

The Foolkillers paused, looked back and forth from one another, back to the warrior monk who had infiltrated their lair.  Janice said, lowly, “Four on one.  Let’s take him.”

Iron Fist laughed. “Now who’s the fool?” He drew the sword from the scabbard on his back.

The Foolkillers looked ready to lunge for Danny, but Greg held up his arms to stop them. “Wait,” Greg cocked an ear to the bushes at their side and said, “Don’t move.”

An ear-splitting wail, completely inhuman, hungry, seemed to spew from every side.  The reptilian mammoth launched from the luscious labyrinth behind them, landing, slamming into the center of the encampment.  The Lizard arched back and snapped its jaws from side to side.

“Holy--!” Iron Fist scampered back, but kept the blade of his sword chest-high.

Janice screamed, and Michael had to hold her from running back through the labyrinth, toward Deathlok.

“Sssstaaayyysssseeee….” the Lizard growled.

“No!” Valley yelled. “He’s gone!  He’s at the Buscema Center right now!  Leave us alone you freak!”

Salinger, at least, seemed calm.  He was transfixed on the Lizard. “Look at what you’ve wrought…this wretched thing…”

Iron Fist leapt between the Foolkillers and the Lizard. “I never thought I’d say this, but you’d better get as far away from here as possible.  All of you.”

Valley didn’t hesitate, and turned back down the way they had all come from.  The Wilkins were swiftly after him.  Salinger took a few steps back, but lingered.  He watched Iron Fist strike a pose, in the Tibetan White Crane way.  Even though it was so dim, Salinger could see Iron Fist’s clenched right hand, and how it glowed.

The Lizard was watching its prey escape.  It leapt, with a deafening displeasure, looking to engulf Iron Fist in its maw.

But Iron Fist connected with a blow straight to the Lizard’s massive neck.  In just that a split instant, Salinger could have sworn the entire underground greenhouse was illuminated in a white flash.  The Lizard was sent sprawling backward, crashing over equipment and stockpiled supplies, bursting packs of bottled water.  Now, Salinger finally gave in to the urge to join Valley and the Wilkins.

Iron Fist again posed defensively. “They said they gave you a placebo formula, Doctor Connors.  So I know you can hear me.  I know you can turn back.  Even if you didn’t mean to get this far, I know you can beat this.” His hand began to glow again, and so did the sword in his other hand. “I’m first and foremost a man of peaceful mediation.  As such, I will always be your friend.  Doctor Connors…calm your rage and realize your humanity.”

The Lizard, hissing and shaking, recovering from the terrific punch across that specific point on his neck, was cowering in the glow of Iron Fist.  But, with every hiss, the Lizard seemed to calm himself.  Iron Fist walked a little bit closer.

“That’s it, Doc.” Iron Fist said. “You’re a man of reason.  So am I.  Why are we fighting?  I know you can’t be comfortable in that skin.  Wouldn’t you like to have a reasonable conversation about all this?”

Now the Lizard and Iron Fist were not even a foot from each other.  Iron Fist held out his hand.  The Lizard panted, and panted…he seemed to cringe with every breath Iron Fist took.  But he did not attack.

“Danny!”

Iron Fist looked over his shoulder and yelled, “No, Larry, don’t--!”

But he couldn’t stop Deathlok at that point.

Not even two seconds later, Deathlok had grasped the Lizard, and lifted the beast high over his head.  In the next second, Deathlok had launched the Lizard dozens of yards over the tall foliage.  The Lizard screamed the entire time.

“Larry!” Iron Fist yelled. “I had him!”

Deathlok cocked his head at him. “You had him?!  He was standing right in front of your face ready to bite it off in a sudden snap of his jaws!  He was luring you!  I was analyzing his heartbeat, Danny.”

Iron Fist shook his head. “No, man.  I had him…”

“Whatever.” Deathlok barked. “We need to find the Foolkillers.  We got maybe thirty seconds before the Lizard is back up and over here.”

Footsteps approached.  Iron Fist and Deathlok both turned, ready for anything.

Luke Cage ran into the low, dim light.  He said, “You guys see the Punisher?” When Fist and ‘Lok both shook their heads, Cage cursed, “Damn!  That means I lost him.”

“Did four serial killers run past you on the way up here?” Danny asked him.

“No…why?” Cage asked.

Iron Fist sighed. “We lost the Foolkillers.”

Luke shook his head. “The Foolkillers don’t matter no more.  Danny…the Punisher was carrying enough C-4 to light up the whole campus.”

Leonard Samson could feel his phone buzzing in his pocket.  Considering the fact that Stacey knew he could be fighting a violent battle for his life against the Lizard, Samson found it strange that she would really be trying to call him.  Even walking down the dim corridor (in what was hopefully the right direction) with not one soul to encroach him, Samson wasn’t going to pick up the phone.

But then…what if she really did have life-saving info to give him?  Samson had been walking down this corridor for quite a while and not heard or seen anything…maybe he should just turn back…

Samson pulled the small cell phone out of his pocket, the thing looking more like a pager in his huge palm.  He pressed a tiny button.  “Hello?  Stacey?”

“Sams---krrrrsh!  You have to--krrsh--of there ri--krrshhhhh---!”

Then there was nothing.  Samson turned the face of the phone to his. “Zero bars…should’ve known I was too far underground at this point…well…I hope that wasn’t anything too important…” Who was he kidding?  Knowing Stacey, it was probably doubly important…I should turn around and head back--

He heard a crash!  From up ahead.  Samson buried his bright cell back in his pocket.  He took small steps, aware of the echo his loud feet would make on the tile.  Doors lined both sides of the hall.  As he passed them, some were open, and he could see that they were either empty, or full of boxed supplies.  Now, Samson was coming to a split in the hallway.  He could go left, or right.

The voices sounded like they were coming from the right…

“Come on!  I don’t care if I leave you behind!”

It was a frantic voice.  Lung-filling gasps accompanied the sounds of running.  More than one person by the sound of it.  More than two.  Samson prepared himself.  He looked around the corner.

Four figures, flowing in and out darkness as they ran under dim, fluorescent lights.  They were all gasping for breath.  They had been running for a long time.  The one in front abruptly dropped to the tile, face first.  Samson thought the man had slipped at first…

“Valley!” one of the other figures stopped and grabbed him by the arm, hoping to pull him up.  The other two figures caught up, but one ran past them.

Now they were positioned under one of the few lights still dimly lit, and Samson could make out their faces.  Two of them were Michael and Janice Wilkins, who had tried to kill him in his own apartment…the one on the ground was Tucker Michael Valley, a New York district court judge, and former conservative candidate for District Attorney.

The last face was the one that Samson was most shocked to see:  Greg Salinger, the Foolkiller.  Samson suddenly felt a sick feeling in his stomach.  These obviously were the murderers he and Stacey had come to…arrest?  Samson was far from a police officer, but he knew he couldn’t let them leave…

“Leave him, Wilkins.” Salinger said. “There’s nothing more you can do for him.”

“What?” Michael Wilkins looked up at Salinger.  Valley was still wheezing, on his hands and knees, as though the pace was too much for him.  Indeed, all the Foolkillers--save Salinger--looked like they were terribly out of breath.

Samson came to a harsh realization.

“I can’t…” Janice panted, and she slumped to the floor against the wall, near Valley, “Mickey…I can’t run anymore.  Let me just…let me just catch my breath, okay?”

Salinger said nothing, but watched them all.

Even Michael now was stationed on his knees, taking in deep breaths.  With each one, it was like he was sucking down a tablespoon of phlegm.  He crawled over to his wife.

Salinger pulled a bottled water out of his pocket.  He said, “Water.  It always helps, right?” He took a swig.

“You!” that was Valley, his entire complexion turning a ghastly shade of purple. “You…did something!”

Salinger now frowned.  He got down on his hands and knees, even with Valley. “I did what you brought me here to do, your honor.” He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a folded scrap of paper.  “This!  This right here!  The Foolkiller pact!” He unfolded the paper and proceeded to read from it. “We commit ourselves to overcoming the Fools in our path, together, thinking and believing and performing, as one single mind blah blah blah….this is hardly the most poetic piece of contrarian philosophy I’ve ever read, but it’s the ending down here, under the six signatures, that really gets me!” Salinger rose to his feet.  He said it loud, “We pledge! We pledge!  That’s what it says right here!  We pledge to die for this cause, even as we revel in our victory!  Just as it is true every Fool on this planet cannot die by our hand, then so it is true that we shall die in spite of this fact!  We shall take our victory and present it ourselves to our Lord!” Salinger crumpled up the piece of paper and threw it at Valley’s plum-colored face. “Don’t tell me you were having second thoughts!”

The Wilkins were huddled together now, taking deep gasps, and kissing each other lightly.

Salinger laughed at them. “I’m sure you two recognize the effects of Florntok’kio poisoning by now…you were prepared for this, eh?”

Janice pulled Michael closer to her. “For a long time.  Now, I can--we can see our boy again.”  Michael didn’t say anything, but grasped his wife tighter, crying and wheezing.

Valley turned over onto his back.  He scoffed, and coughed.  Then, he said, “Yes.  You’re right.  I knew…” He looked at Salinger. “I knew you would fulfill our own prophecy.”

Salinger smiled and nodded. “You would have to be fools to think otherwise.”

With one last gasp of breath, Valley leaned his head back, and then gasped no more.

Salinger gazed over at the Wilkins, and saw they lay still against each other.  He approached and felt for their pulses; there were none.  When he took his hands away, the two bodies slumped to the tile, away from one another.

Samson’s heart was racing.  Though he may have been too late to stop Salinger from poisoning them, there was a shallow feeling inside him nonetheless.  Could he have helped them?  Could he have saved them?  Samson wearily thought, Actually…there was probably no saving them no matter what I did…

The only Foolkiller looked over his handiwork.  From inside his hoody, he brought out a small flower, and lightly sniffed at it.  “Ah, Florntok’kio.  It is a beautiful sight to behold.  It is…a beautiful weapon.  Certainly more satisfying than my old purification gun, even if its not as blunt…” He put the flower back in his pocket, and declared, “You may have been sad, sad people, but you were acceptable Foolkillers in the end.  I have to believe that you made me better…otherwise why would our fates have intertwined in the first place?  Now…I have simply one more loose thread to snip:  Paul Stacy.  His ward, Ben Anderson, intrigues me however--”

“Don’t move.”

Salinger froze.  So did Samson.

Walking solemnly, with a pistol held steady in his hands with every pace, the Punisher appeared from down the opposite hallway.  Samson cursed to himself.

Salinger snarled. “No.  You can’t stop me.  Not now.  Only a fool would not realize what God has--”

“Shut up!” the Punisher growled. “You know…there are some bullets that are made for bigger assholes than other bullets are made for.  Every time I change the clip, I think, oh, hum, what assholes are gonna deserve these pieces of lead right through their black hearts?” The Punisher paused, and judged Salinger, and the dead bodies around him. “You know what?  It’s a trick question.  ‘Cause I always aim for the head.”

“Put it down, Castle.” It was another voice.  Both Salinger and Castle were jumped a litle.

He stood there, under a fluorescent light behind them, like he had been standing there the entire time.

“Daredevil.” the Punisher growled. “God I hate this city.  Every time I turn ‘round someone has a mask on.”

At least that’s what Samson thought at first too.  The black costume, the emblazoned ‘DD’ on the upper chest, and the horns all seemed to fit the Man Without Fear, but Samson, the more he looked, was less and less convinced.  Salinger slinked a few steps backward, ready to run.

“Dammit, let me deal with one psychopath at a time.” the Punisher looked back at Salinger, ready to pull the trigger.

The billy club was pulled from Daredevil’s waist with a quickness Samson had rarely ever seen.  The Punisher had barely turned and straightened his aim when the club sailed across the back of his head.  “Guh!” was the only sound he made he hit the floor, smearing blood from both sides of his head on the tile.  It was strange shade of red in the electric fluorescent light.

Salinger started to run.  But the billy club, amazingly, had bounced off the Punisher’s head, off a fire extinguisher, off the tile, and then back into Daredevil’s hand.  The billy club was then launched again, cracking against the back of Salinger’s knee.  He hadn’t even taken two steps.  Again, the billy club wound up back in Daredevil’s palm.

Daredevil, with a stone frown on his face that Samson had never seen the vigilante wear before, grabbed Salinger by his collar and dragged him over by the Punisher.  The Foolkiller and the Punisher both groaned from the blunt trauma.  But Daredevil didn’t seem to notice that he had both his enemies down on the ground.  After putting the club back at his waist, Daredevil brutally backhanded the Punisher with his right hand, then cracked his left fist across the Foolkiller’s face.

He did the same thing three more times in a row:  punching both of them, equally and in turn, left and right.  The faces of the Foolkiller and the Punisher were swelling, turning unnatural colors, and bleeding heavily.  Daredevil’s knuckles were splashing blood onto the adjacent wall.

Samson didn’t know what was going on Daredevil’s head to make him act this way, but Samson knew he had to stop it.  For a moment, Samson thought he was going to get lucky and not even have to jump into this fracas, but there was no way he was going to stand for this level of ferocity, even from a supposed hero like Daredevil.

Oddly, Daredevil seemed to look up at Samson, even before Samson darted around the corner to confront him.  Samson approached with his arms raised.

“This is not your place, Samson.” Daredevil scowled.

“Neither is it yours.” Samson stayed firm. “Let me take them in.”

Again, Daredevil launched the billy club from his side, but Samson was ready for that.  Samson knocked it back toward Daredevil with his forearm.  Daredevil ducked under it, but the Punisher seized the opportunity, and punched Daredevil right in the nose.  Daredevil dropped to one knee, and the Punisher kicked him in the side of the head.

Castle grabbed his gun from where it lay near Valley’s corpse, ready to shoot Samson.  But Samson didn’t wait for it to happen.  Samson grabbed the Punisher by skull emblem on his chest, and threw him down the hallway.  The Punisher tumbled and rolled over himself so far down the corridor, Samson lost sight of him in the darkness.

But Daredevil had leapt to his feet, and proceeded, with both hands interlocked together, to knock Samson across the face.  Samson saw spots and thought very briefly, Daredevil was never that strong!

Then Samson drove his fist into Daredevil’s gut.  With a harsh gasp, Daredevil fell to the ground.  With another punch, Samson had Daredevil completely on the ground.

“Now…” Samson was panting, “I think I’m going to have to take all three of you in for--” He looked back at the Foolkiller.

Greg Salinger was nowhere to be found.  The only Foolkillers around were the dead ones.

“Damn.” Salinger bit his lip.  He gazed down at Daredevil, and saw the vigilante was still not moving.  Stacey was not going to be pleased.  Instead of apprehending the Foolkiller, a trio of self-styled justice-makers tripped over each other and let him escape…Samson allowed himself another angry outburst, “Damn!”

Samson shook off the defeat, and walked down the hall where the Punisher had careened.  At least he’d have something to show for his effort…

“Oh no.” Samson stopped before he got too far down the hallway.

Instead of the Punisher’s prone body, Samson found a bomb.  Crudely put together, but with enough C-4 to easily bring down the whole building…right on Doctor Leonard Samson’s head.  The timer was a stopwatch, with the seconds hand ticking perilously closer and closer to the ‘12’.

Samson bolted back the other way.  He had to grab Daredevil and then get out of here before--

Again, Samson stopped.  There was a woman standing over Daredevil’s body, and she was hardly wearing anything at all except flesh-toned leather over her breasts and her crotch.  Her hair was mangled, and dangled down past her shoulders along with the heavy stone (or bone?) jewelry that jingled around her wrists and her neck and at her ears.  Samson had seen this woman before, whether in person or simply on the news he didn’t know but he searched for her name in his mind…

She’s not Dansen Macabre, or Satana…god, who cares what her name is, but she obviously has some sort of hold over Daredevil and maybe that explains his violent behavior and oh God, Samson shook his head and yelled, “We gotta get out of here!  This whole place is gonna blow!”
 

The woman said, “Calypso sees the present moment like a spider sees her web.  Nothing escapes my perception.”  Her hands were overflowing with some sort of sand, which spread in a circle around herself and Daredevil. “Leave us to my magic, Leonard Samson.  You had better start running for your life.”

Samson found himself cursing again, and he left the corpses of the Foolkillers along with Calypso and her Daredevil.  He ran as fast as he could, back out of the Science Center, the same way he came in:  alone, and in the dark.

Stacey Dolan saw the Lizard first.

She didn’t get too close, but she knew the monster saw her.  Because it looked right at her.  And it leapt away across the campus.  Stacey breathed a sigh of relief, but on some level, she kicked herself for not shooting the ugly bastard.

Since, after all, Samson had gone in chasing it, and now the Lizard had emerged, looking none the worse.  Did that thing even see Samson? she wondered.

It would be another good few minutes before the Heroes For Hire rushed out of there.  They all looked grim, and panicked.

“What happened?” Stacey shouted when they were close enough.

“We lost them.” Deathlok growled. “We lost them all!”

Luke shook his head. “I lost Castle.  That was on me.”

Iron Fist shook his head, took a deep breath through his nostrils, and exhaled it through his mouth. “No, guys.  It’s no one’s fault.  Right now, the most important thing is to get the bomb squad out here--”

“Bomb squad?” Stacey interrupted. “And, Cage, did you say Castle…as in, Frank Castle?”

The H4H were silent.  Then, Iron Fist said, “The Punisher most likely set a bomb in the building, in order to kill the Foolkillers and destroy their laboratory and supplies.”

Stacey’s blood was rushing. “Punisher?  You guys did not say anything about the Punisher!  What the hell!  Did he follow you here?”  She threw her hands in the air. “And my boyfriend is still in there!” After realizing what she had just said, she quickly corrected, “I mean…dammit, Samson is still in there!”

“I’ll go back in.” Deathlok said.

Iron Fist denied that. “It’s too late.  I need you to expand your radar at least a mile in diameter.  If anything moves like a human running for his life, that’s the Foolkiller.”

“And what about Samson?” Stacey was shocked she had to remind them.

“There he is!” Cage pointed.

Iron Fist smiled. “I knew he’d make it.”

Indeed, there he was, dashing from the same hatch on the side of the Science Center that the Lizard had. Across the vast greenbelt, Leonard Samson ran as fast as Stacey had ever seen him.  His green hair flowed after him like a green banner in the moonlight.  He was waving his arms at them like a madman.

“What is he doing?” Luke peered.

“I dunno…” Deathlok tried to get a good close-up of Samson’s face.

Stacey’s eyes widened. “I think…I think he’s trying to tell us to--”

“Get back!” Deathlok had a good close-up of Samson’s face.

Stacey felt herself scooped up in the arms of Luke Cage, and suddenly they were all running the opposite direction of Samson.

After what felt like forever, but maybe not even thirty seconds, they were all flung forward with a deafening roar and raging heat.  Stacey could do nothing but cling to Cage even tighter.  He tucked and rolled, keeping Stacey from even being scratched.  Soon, he was back on his feet and running again.  Stacey opened her eyes, and saw Iron Fist and Leonard Samson running to the side of her.  Samson smiled at her.

Stacey realized there was a pungent smell--obviously smoke--and a orange tint to everything.  The building behind was nothing but a ball of flame, and she didn’t need to look behind to know that.  She found herself wondering if the Foolkillers had made it out alive.

Minutes Ago

Greg Salinger had run for the Buscema Center.  His lungs were burning as he pumped his legs faster.  For all he knew there could be a vigilante right behind him.  He tried to wipe the blood from his face with his black sleeves, but it was starting to soak his sleeves.  His face was pounding with pain.

But he wasn’t about to abandon the campus, disappear into the city, as he certainly could have at this point.   His work wouldn’t be done until he reached the Buscema Center.  That’s where he had been told Paul Stacy was putting on some sort of banquet for some sort of civil worker’s union.

He had been freed from prison this morning…and he had successfully taken back his name, while foiling the damn fool vigilantes along the way.

Clearly, God is on my side.  I can’t stop until I reach Paul Stacy.  His thoughts were quick.

He saw the Center in the distance, and the noise surrounding it.  Waves of screaming men and women, stampeded past him, in the opposite direction through the parking lot, trying in vain to access their luxury cars.  Greg finally pulled the elbow of one young, elegantly dressed woman, who was holding her heels in her hand as she ran.

“What’s going on?  Where are you all coming from?” Salinger yelled at her. 

The girl shook him off. “Monster!  There’s a monster in there!” She pointed behind her, at the Buscema Center. “I think…I think there’s an Avenger there, and Spider-Man was there too!  It’s crazy!  You don’t wanna go over there!” Then she started running again.

Salinger smiled. Spider-Man?  Heh, Valley told me tonight was the night I would finally face him again…

Instead of trying to wade through the crowds to get through the front of the Buscema Center, Salinger ran around to the back.  Surely there was some sort of fire exit he could get through, but what he found instead was--

Spider-Man. Just standing there…no, not just standing there.  He was wrangling someone…

“Ben…” Salinger muttered as he recognized the armor that the other Foolkillers had stashed in their greenhouse hideaway.  Spider-Man had Ben Anderson in his clutches.  Paul and Ben’s scheme must have gone pear-shaped, but where was Paul…?

Whatever happened to Paul, Salinger wasn’t going to let Spider-Man ruin the day…

As he drew nearer, he could hear the web-slinger talking to Ben.

“I know that your father wouldn’t have wanted this.” Spider-Man said.

Ben, looking exasperated, shouted back, “Nobody ever asked us what we wanted!  Not me, not Paul, not any of us!  Our families were killed, all in the name of some kind of cause or another, and nobody ever asked us if we needed help!  So we helped each other.  We met in support groups and camps.  We stayed in touch through e-mails and blogs.  We made each other feel better.  We took our lives back!  Back from you!”

“The only life you took,” Spider-Man said, “was Paul’s.”

Now, a wave of relief washed over Salinger, as he crept up quickly behind Spider-Man.  Paul Stacy is dead…and Ben had killed him.  But he knew the wall-crawler was bound to sense him somehow if he wasn’t quick…

Ben scoffed, and for a second, Greg thought he must have seen him behind the wall-crawler. “You idiot.  Paul would have rather died than see everything we worked for come crashing down.  He told me that himself.  I felt the same way.” He closed his eyes. “And now…you have to kill me.”

Spider-Man said, “I don’t kill.”

Ben shook his head. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

Spider-Man started to look over his shoulder.  Greg was still a good distance from the two of them, but the homemade gas bomb was already in his hand.  He threw it at Spider-Man’s feet and it instantly exploded, covering the web-slinger in Florntok’kio gas.

Salinger was close now, and Spider-Man had fully turned to face him by the time the hero dropped to his knees from the gas.

With one final heave, Spider-Man said, “Greg Salinger…” and then fell to the soil.

Greg shuddered. “He remembered me.  I can’t believe he remembered me…” But he smiled, and then looked at Ben, who was webbed up, kneeling on the ground.  It reminded Greg of the position Spider-Man left him in the last time they met.  “Come along, Ben.” Greg pulled a knife and cut him loose.

“Stop!” the Black Widow could see them, just across from her.  The Foolkillers…they were standing over Spider-Man’s still body.

They didn’t look like they had heard her, simply trotting off into the distance.  By the time she had sprinted to Spider-Man, the Foolkiller had disappeared around the multitude of the glass buildings that made up the ESU campus.

Natasha didn’t care.  Spider-Man wasn’t moving.  She looked over his body; there didn’t seem to be any blood or sign of a scuffle at all.  Natasha leaned closer and flared her nostrils.  Immediately, she jerked back.

“Florntok’kio.” Natasha muttered.  She wasn’t a poison expert…certainly not experienced enough in something as exotic as this…what could she do to save Spider-Man’s life?  She put her hand on his chest to feel for a heartbeat…

Spider-Man immediately jumped up. “GUHHH~!” He gasped for breath, clutching the Black Widow tight at the shoulders.

“Spidey!” Natasha said. “How do you feel?  Are you ok?  Empire State General isn’t too far if we have--”

“No.” Spidey gasped. “It’s too late.  He’s dead.  Dead.  I couldn’t save him…”

Natasha shook her head. “You mean…Paul Stacy?”

“No…” Spider-Man was shivering and grunting. “Russ Anderson…both of them…I couldn’t save them…”

Natasha couldn’t help but say, “Who?”

Then, an explosion rocked the campus.  A fireball shot up over the glass structures behind them.  Glass splintered, shattered.  There were screams.  The roar of the blaze overtook everything.

The Black Widow held Spider-Man against her tightly, as Hell broke loose, as the wall-crawler convulsed more and more violently.  And he whispered--

“Fool…nothing but a fool to think I could save him…what was I thinking…such a fool…”

One Hour Later…

Arnie McGuffin yawned, loudly, through the silent hallway of his apartment building.  His new apartment was four floors higher than his old one--the one that had recently become the scene of a bloody murder of a police detective.  Arnie took a breath; climbing those extra flights of stairs were a bitch.  Damn elevator was out of order again.  He was gonna need another cigarette.

So Arnie lit one before he stuck the key in the lock and turned.

He stepped inside the barren place, not bothering to turn on the lights.  The apartment’s design was identical to his old one, so he knew he way around in the dark.  Besides, his mind kept flashing back to J. Jonah Jameson and Betty Brant and even Leonard Samson with his pig-woman.  Arnie had declined their invitation to join them in their confrontation with Paul Stacy.  It wasn’t his style.  Jonah was always the flamboyant showman.  He had brought in the Heroes For Hire, Murdock & Murdock, and God knew who else would be involved in this Foolkiller mess by the time the night was over…

Arnie was glad to be done with it.  Sure, Jonah was going to give him a nice paycheck out of all this, but still, if he heard the name ‘Foolkiller’ again it would be too soon.

But Arnie suddenly thought about Greg Salinger.  After all, Salinger had been right, hadn’t he?  This new Foolkiller turned out to be nothing but a bunch of phonies who wanted a little revenge and a lot of money.  Salinger had them figured out long before J. Jonah Jameson or Leonardo Chase.

“Salinger.” Arnie found himself grunting the name.  He walked into the bathroom, felt the wall for the light switch, flicked it upward.

“Yes, Arnie?”

“Jesus!”  Arnie jumped backward and slipped on the tile, right down on his tailbone.  But he looked up, and knew his eyes weren’t deceiving him.  What he’d seen in the mirror was actually standing over him.

Greg Salinger stared down at him, blankly.  His face was a bruised mess. “I’m sorry to drop by like this.  But I really had nowhere else to go.  I don’t have many friends in the city anymore…”

Arnie scrambled backward into the dark hallway, still on his hands and knees. “Holy mother of God, what are you doing here?!  Did you…did you escape?” His entire frame was trembling.

The light poured over Salinger’s shoulders as he joined Arnie in the hall.  He flicked the hallway light to his left.  Arnie saw there was another person standing in the hall there too, but this guy looked little more than a teenager after a bad rave.

“How did you get in here?” Arnie’s mind was racing.

“Easy with the questions.” Salinger smiled. “I’m not the one with the answers you seek.  Neither is my friend Ben over here.  Who knows whose will it was that I should be released from prison, by whatever means it was.  The American justice system is hardly foolproof, and God works in mysterious ways--two facts that I have come to accept in my life.  The important thing is that I’m here now.  And there’s never a more important moment than the one you’re living at that moment…I mean, am I right?”

Arnie didn’t say anything.  He kept looking from Salinger to ‘Ben’ and back to Salinger.

“Why are you here?” Arnie gulped.

Salinger said, “Feel privileged, Arn.  We’re here to mark a new beginning.  We’re closing the book on a rather tumultuous chapter of both our lives.  And we’ve chosen your apartment as the starting point.  Ben?”

Ben pulled from his pocket a gun.

“Oh god…” Arnie suddenly was frantic. “Come on, Greg, what’re you doing, man?  I thought…I thought we were friends?”

Greg nodded. “We are friends, Arnie.  But, like I said, this is a new beginning.” He pointed at the gun in Ben’s hand. “Do you recognize that?  It’s my old purification gun.  It was buried in the same graveyard as my mother, up in Queens.  Not quite six feet under with her, but deep enough to be kept safe with her.”  He patted Ben on the back. “Okay, now do it like I taught you.”

Ben cleared his throat and raised the gun at Arnie.

Arnie went pale. “No!  No!  Wait!  Stop!  Don’t do this!  I--I--I won’t tell anyone I saw you!  I swear!  Please!  Just don’t--” He was still on his hands and knees, and he tugged at Salinger’s pant leg.

“Arnold McGuffin.” Ben said solemnly, “E Pluribus Unum.  You have been judged a fool, and now you will die like one.  May God have mercy on your immortal soul.”

“No, don’t do it!  I don’t want to die!  Please, please, Greg, don’t let him--” Arnie cried and begged and pulled at their slacks. “Please!  God, don’t--”

Ben pulled the trigger.  It was almost like a beam of light that shot from the barrel but it engulfed Arnie McGuffin instantly.  His skin immediately charred and flaked, turning a stark black.  His scalp and face started to crumble first, but the disintegration of his legs happened much faster.  His torso was the last to deteriorate, and Ben saw Arnie’s beating heart the split second before it too turned to ash.

Then, there was nothing left of Arnie but a clump of ash.  A second later, Greg kicked it and scattered it across the wall and hardwood floor.

“Didn’t that feel good, Ben?” Greg laughed.

Ben didn’t answer.  He looked at the gun in his hand, and then back at Greg. “Now what do we do?”

Greg said, “Anything we want.  We’re free men, and we can do whatever we want.  Where do you want to go from here?” He grasped Ben at his arms and said, “Listen to your spirit, boy.  You can never go wrong.”

Ben looked Greg in the eye.  He said, “Let’s save the world.  Or die trying.”

Greg laughed. “Right!  But, first…we’re going to have to make some more business cards.”

THE END

FOOL’S ERRANDS:

So, there you have it.

Special thanks must go to:  Mike Hintze, David Golightly, Curt Fernlund, Anthony Crute, and Steve Seinberg for giving me their permission (a long, long time ago now) to use their dibbed characters in this guest-star-apalooza that ends the Foolkiller saga in a big fashion.  Truthfully, the fun of creating an unofficial Knights Branch crossover was the main thing that kept up my enthusiasm for finishing this damn thing.

I know:  it’s not perfect.  Far from it, and nobody is more disappointed in that fact than myself.  But I’m glad I finally got to the finish line, regardless of how many people I may have lost along the way.  Especially with a page count of over thirty!  If you throw in Amazing Spider-Man issue 48, then this final tale was easily over fifty pages.  I apologize, but it did teach me not to bite off more than I could chew.  Hopefully there was enough meat in here to satisfy everyone regardless of how epic the page count.  You all have waited long enough for something epic, I feel.

The Foolkiller is now free to be used across the vast landscape of the M2K-verse.  Will he wind up on the West Coast, capitalizing on the devastation there?  Will he stick around New York, finding new ways to kill Spider-Man?  I don’t know, really.  He now belongs to everybody, and that includes you.

Aloha!

-Bryan