“I’ll make you a deal,” Otto Octavius said. “I’ll have Daniel here release you from incarceration if you guarantee two things.”
Juan de la Vega, otherwise known as the new Tarantula, looked the stout villain over from behind his energy prison bars. His dark hair matched his dark glasses, both of which covered portions of Octavius’ round face. He was only recently confined but already he despised being locked up. His freedom, even though barely out of his grasp, longed to be a part of him once more.
“Ock,” his companion, the wiry Looter, scoffed from beside him, “This guy? I could break him in half. You don’t want a guy like this on the payroll.”
“Shut your mouth, idiota,” the Tarantula shot back. “These conditions…these guarantees…what are they?”
Doctor Octopus placed his hands behind his back, stepping closer to the sizzling energy bars separating the two. “First, your loyalty. My simpleton friend, Fester, understands that I demand complete and total loyalty of those that work for me.” Octavius’ accent grew thicker as he spoke, as if to show the stern intensity of his words. “And make no mistake about it. You will be working for me.”
The stubborn Tarantula shot a glance over his shoulder at his repressed bunkmate, the Walrus. The fat waste of space cowered on his thin bed, noticeably shivering with fear. Juan was not a person who took orders well but pummeling the bulbous Walrus had relieved enough tension that he could stand the pudgy Octavius. For now.
“And the second condition?”
Octavius smiled as the Looter huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “We’ll get to that soon enough. Daniel,” Otto said, turning to the green Guardsman standing off to the side. “Liberate our Latin friend. He’ll be running a similar mission to the one just started.”
The armored man, moving quickly to follow his benefactor’s instructions, punched in the correct key sequence to retract the energy bars to the Tarantula’s cell. He had sworn an oath when taking the position at the Vault but it didn’t matter to him. He was slightly ashamed to admit it aloud but Octavius had found his vice and he would do anything to keep from losing it. Thanks to special codes uncovered while the genius Tinkerer was held within the prison walls none of Daniel’s superiors would ever know.
The bars slid back, opening the doorway to the Tarantula’s freedom. He mockingly stretched his arms as he stepped into the corridor, yawning as if he had been stuffed inside a dank barrel for weeks on end.
“Fantástico!” he exclaimed. “Los pulmones son llenados de una vez más aire limpio. Octavius. Now what would you have me do? Eh? Is there a party we are crashing?” The Spaniard clasped his hands around the back of his black facemask, tightening the cloth. “My skills…they are yours. Maybe you want to break out altogether, ci?”
Octavius held out his fist and dropped a handful of thin wafers into Tarantula’s open palm. They were small and barely visible unless held at the right angle. The Tarantula displayed a puzzled look on his face, unsure of what Octavius was trying to imply.
“Why would I want to leave?” Otto asked, a slight chuckle in his voice. “This fortress will serve as an excellent base of operations. When I control the entire complex there will be nothing to stand in my way.”
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He
moved silently down the hallway, virtually undetectable thanks
to the intense training he had undergone. He was like a wisp,
a slice of nothing, a shadow on the wall. The staff in the Vault’s
medical facility hadn’t known he was there until he snapped their
necks.
Sinclair Abbot, the Spymaster, was easily able to gain access to anywhere on the planet, including specific rooms inside the superhuman detention complex. His skills in espionage had enabled him to collect a hefty fortune and he would be lying if he said he didn’t do it for the money. Sure, the thrill was nice and he enjoyed his work, but in the end all that he really cared about was the paycheck. Octavius had sent him on little errands around the Vault before, usually to collect information. This time, however, his assignment was much more hands-on. The chamber at the back of the medical ward slid open and allowed rays of light to fall onto the cold floor. This back room was much different than the front one, practically the complete opposite in the way of cleanliness. This was where the warden stuffed special inmates that he didn’t want the politicians to know about, the ones that needed sedation and couldn’t be put into solitary confinement at the risk of them committing suicide. Sinclair stepped into the dank room, his eyes flitting over the ugly images in front of him. There were several cages lining the walls, each of them containing a person that looked delirious and devoid of emotion. The atmosphere was more attuned to an asylum than a prison medical wing. “Who might you be?” a harsh feminine voice asked him from somewhere in the back of the room. “Santa fucking Claus,” Abbot replied. “Ho, ho, ho.” “Great,” she replied, sarcasm dripping off of her red lips, “another man. Just what this place didn’t need.” Abbot cautiously moved deeper into the chamber, careful not to give away his exact position as the backlight of the outer room undoubtedly blinded whoever was in the interior. “Feel free to shut your mouth any time,” he said. “I’ll shut it for you soon enough anyway.” “So you’re not with the staff.” He heard her shuffle around in her cell, the noise pinpointing where she was in the darkness. “Tell me, Santa. Are you afraid of the dark?” The Spymaster was about to throw a clever line back at her but before he could say anything the shadows from her corner split open, a shimmer of light beginning to poke through. The light danced back and forth and he looked at it, recognition clicking into place. Fire. The flames expanded and jutted out into the room coming dangerously close to him. Abbot dove to the side, the heat from the licking fire brushing against his forgettable features. Caught off guard, Abbot rolled onto his side and fell into a crouch behind another cage, this one resting in the corner opposite his attacker. He silently swore as he assessed the situation. He needed to slip the wafer thin negation pads Octavius had given him onto the prisoners here before moving on. That was his assignment and he wasn’t about to give up on it. He didn’t know why Octavius wanted the pads slapped onto the back of these inmates’ necks in particular, and he didn’t really care. He got paid the same either way. Of course, it didn’t really look like the woman casting fire his way really needed the effects of Octavius’ devices. “Fucking little man,” she muttered. He could hear her pacing back and forth in her cage, obviously unhinged by his mere presence. Sinclair crept further behind the cage, careful not to touch the electrified steel bars. Drifting whiffs of ozone reached his nostrils…from the bars? The lapping flames from the firebug? No…something wasn’t right here. Something was definitely wrong about the way it smelled. He clenched his eyes momentarily to try and decipher the odor, letting the suffocating smell fill him up. Burnt flesh. Another hot fireball slammed against the cage he was hiding behind, spewing light over the charred corpse of an unfortunate bastard that had been unable to get away from her. Sinclair pulled his head back, slightly surprised by the scene but not shocked. “It’s always the same,” the woman continued to rant. “Little old Mary is left to fend for herself while the men leave her to starve. I swear, if your dicks weren’t hung just below your beer guts you would never know where they were. “Look at you!” the woman called out. “Running scared and pissing your pants! Aren’t you supposed to be the big, bad alpha male? Heh…you’re pathetic. Leave it to a man to cower in the dark, too afraid to do anything.” “Leave it to a broad to run her mouth while I flank her,” the Spymaster added. Mary whirled around, surprised by the sudden voice behind her. During her rant she had backed up to the far side of her cage and was in perfect range for Abbot to knock her out. With one quick hit, carefully thrown between the bars, Mary fell to the floor of her cell and didn't get back up. The Spymaster bent down and gently slapped one of the nega-pads onto the back of Mary’s neck, the barely visible device adhering immediately. Standing back up, Abbot turned away from the disturbed woman, already casting her out of his mind. There were other people he needed to visit before his work was done. James Rhodes was having one Hell of a time staying alive. Several components of his armor were slagged and useless, his gauntlets pretty much the only thing still operational. His chest plate had taken the most damage and was more dead weight than anything else at this point. Having shed the majority of his black and white armor, Rhodes had to pick and choose his shots as the reserve power for his gauntlets wouldn’t last forever. Normally he would be worried about what Tony would think once he told him he had scrapped another version of the War Machine armor, but right now he was concentrating on avoiding his own repulsar blasts. Another searing beam of concussive force struck a chunk of debris, sending it flying through the air. Rhodes dove behind the remnants of a concrete wall, barely able to find cover at all after the Adaptoid had decided to use its ability to mimic its opponent’s offensive capabilities. The repulsar beams, a proud invention of Tony Stark, were deadly when used haphazardly like the Adaptoid was currently doing. He couldn’t see the automaton from where he was crouched but he could certainly hear it. Standing at over six feet tall, the Super-Adaptoid was practically a force of nature. Rhodes had no idea why it had been sent to the Vault, but he reasoned that the large pool of dampened powers within the inmates looked appealing to whoever was pulling its strings. Its green skin would morph slightly, taking on the physical characteristics of the person whose powers it was copying. If he could see it he was sure it looked something like the deranged helmet he wore. Another blast slammed into the other side of the wall he was behind but the structure held, shaking slightly from the impact. He couldn’t stay here for long, he had to move. The Adaptoid was faster, stronger, and more versatile than he was but he hoped that its brains were as mushy as its skin. He was a veteran, a soldier, and a hero. Experience and plain old human ingenuity were all he had left. He grabbed the wall, wrapping his gloved fingers around the top of what was left of it, and supported the concrete from falling on top of him. The Adaptoid was getting closer, its heavy metallic feet clacking on the terrain. Before long the repulsar blasts would be coming from point blank range, undoubtedly then able to crush the concrete from its sheer intensity and Rhodes with it. The Adaptoid let out one last volley of energy before stepping close enough to grasp the top of the black and white gauntlet. Its cold, orange eyes glowed a pulsating hue of apathetic violence, its programming the only thing it truly cared about. The green of its fingers clashed against Rhodes’ armored hand as it crushed the gauntlet as easily as a child would a stack of twigs. The sound of rendering steel sounded, the glove no longer anything more valuable than a paper weight. Ripping the glove out from behind the lacerated wall, the Adaptoid brought it close to its face, wondering where the rest of the arm was. Suddenly, its headed was catapulted forward, its body flipping along with it over the barely standing wall. Trails of smoke plumed off its body, a result of being attacked from behind. “Your circuits scrambled yet, you wannabe Skrull?” Rhodes asked mockingly as he overlooked the fallen android. “You’re dumber than I thought if you actually fell for me leaving an empty glove like that. Just like Bugs Bunny.” He had to sacrifice one of his gloves to get the Adaptoid into position, but it had been worth it. The close range, full blast attack with his remaining gauntlet had obviously been enough to knock the thing over, now he just had to keep the upper hand. The Adaptoid rolled onto its feet, preparing to leap up and continue the fight, but Rhodes dove on top of the robot and forced his armored fist into what passed for it’s face. The servos in his glove gave him an added edge in the way of strength in comparison to a normal human being, but his low power reserves made it almost impossible to activate them. Again and again he punched the Adaptoid, hoping he was doing some type of internal damage. It’s skin compacted around his fist as he pounded, but it had done that before. Even though it might appear that Rhodes had the leverage in the fight he knew it was a lost cause. It would take a lot more than a guy with a gloved fist to take down the Super-Adaptoid. Still, he had to try. That’s what heroes did. The Adaptoid twisted its head, its eyes beginning to glow a bright orange. Before Rhodes could throw himself out of the way, a bright and powerful optic blast blinded him and tossed him thirty feet through the air. He grabbed at his face, desperate to ease the pain and burning. His face wasn’t on fire but his nerve endings felt like that had been pinched with a pair of pliers. He slammed into the far wall, bouncing to the ground in agony. Now hovering over him in the air, the Adaptoid gazed down at him like it was his master, it’s eyes rippling with orange energy. It remained silent, somehow content to watch the security chief of the Vault cry in pain. It’s features had again returned to a smooth surface clean of any blemishes. There wasn’t a mark on it from all the work Rhodes had put into pummeling it. “B…bastard…” Rhodes muttered, on the verge of passing out. “Gonna stop you…” “Your destructive rampage will stop now,” a European accented voice said from somewhere in the background. “This is my facility now. You will either join me or be reduced to nothingness.” The Adaptoid twisted in midair toward the voice, it’s apathy still apparent. It saw a group of men standing on the far side of the decimated room, the one in front with his arms crossed just above his slightly bulging stomach. He looked older yet stalwart, his glasses masking the top portion of his face. “You’re some type of android?” he asked the green-skinned robot. “Yes. The design looks like something A.I.M. made. Probably one of those insanely powerful Adaptoid automatons. If I had my extensions I would love to peel away that smooth epidermis of yours.” “What do you want us to do, Doc?” another of the men asked, this one with a goatee and an air of arrogance to his stature. “You will do nothing, Looter. Rhino, Berzerker, Tracer…kill it.” A lumbering giant moved passed the gathered men, cracking his knuckles as he walked. “With pleasure, boss.” The Rhino lunged for the floating Adaptoid, his fists slamming together with the android’s head caught in the middle. The Adaptoid tumbled to the ground, grappling with the giant mountain of a man. The Rhino flexed his muscles against the robotic appendages of the Adaptoid, managing to hold it to the ground while the mutant Berzerker moved into position behind them. “Heh,” the electrical mutant laughed. “This is great! Get clear, Rhino. This fucker’s gonna sizzle!” Arcs of relentless electricity plunged into the Adaptoid’s body, sending it into convulsions. The Adaptoid wiggled on the floor for a moment before simply stopping, seemingly ignoring the thousands of volts passing through its simulated body. The robot stood up, the electricity continuing to wash over it like a horrific bath, doing no damage whatsoever. “Hey!” Berzerker exclaimed. “Ock! What gives?” “He’s adapting to your powers, you fool!” Octavius replied, irritation and annoyance in his voice. “Tracer! End this now.” Berzerker broke off his attack just before the Adaptoid was within an arm’s length of him. He ran over to the Rhino, revealing a thin, brown-haired man behind him, a smirk pleasantly resting above his chin. “Robot, huh?” Tracer asked, catching the Adaptoid’s attention. “Well, guess what? I’m the god of machines. True story.” The Adaptoid’s eyes quickly flashed with orange, the stored up energy threatening to be unleashed over the new arrival to the fight. Tracer stood his ground, not even moving a finger to resist. The Adaptoid cocked it’s head back, preparing to fire another optic blast…but nothing happened. The glow in the robot’s eyes slowly died out, the energy somehow leaving it. :: ERROR! :: it proclaimed. :: System shutdown imminent. Query – diagnostics reveal no internal problems. Warning! Shutting dow-- :: Tracer’s smirk grew even wider as the Adaptoid fell to rest at his feet, apparently motionless and defeated. The thin man kicked the robot in its green face twice, savoring his victory. He knew that thanks to his cyberpathy he would never have anything to fear from an android. Ordering the simulated being into shutdown had been easier than anything else in the world to him. “Told you,” Tracer said. “Hey, Ock!” Berzerker cried out as he approached the villain. “What gives, huh? I thought you said those nega-pads would nullify the dampeners spread throughout the joint!" “They did,” Octavius answered. “Your mutant powers have been restored as long as the batteries in my little adhesive patches retain their charges. The various power suppression dampeners within this complex have been rendered inert as far as you’re concerned. Don’t be such a buffoon, Berzerker.” “Yeah,” the Looter added. “Did you think Doc Ock wouldn’t have everything covered from the beginning? Guy’s a genius!” “The Vault is now under the complete control of Doctor Octopus,” Octavius stated, a sneer forming on his face. James Rhodes peered out from behind the doorway of the next room, doing his best to ignore the pain in his burned face. He watched as the Rhino and Looter high-fived one another and Octavius motioned for the gathering inmates to follow him. He had been lucky to get out of their sight while they took down the Adaptoid, thankfully unseen from whenever they had entered the room. He winced as he slid down the cold wall, realizing that he had just been thrown out of the frying pan and into the fire. “What the Hell is goin’ on out there?” Hammerhead demanded. The Guardsmen had all left his cell block in a hurry, obviously in a rush to get somewhere. After being corralled back into their pens there had been a few muffled explosions but no one had given him any details. He was alone in his cell, the other inmates nearby not even answering his calls. There was a time when things would have been different. There was a time when Hammerhead was the king of this refuse pile. The guards would bring him twenty-four ounce steaks, the center of which was always blood red, just how he liked it. The other prisoners would stumble over themselves to do him favors. Even the previous warden had made sure there was always a specific type of woman awaiting him for a special, private visit. But all that had changed since he had been gone. It was like a totally new installation, one that he had virtually no power in. To make matters worse, that fool Octavius had apparently taken his place at the top. Hammerhead ground his teeth in frustration. He was determined to take back the respect he deserved and crush the squid beneath his feet. After all, the laws of the street went double on the inside. Survival of the fittest. He had already begun an operation to weed out the weak from the strong, all the while making a huge amount of money on the side. Before long he would have enough pull inside the Vault to knock down the four-eyed squid. He would be back on top…he just needed time. “Perdóneme,” a thickly accented voice said. Hammerhead shot up from his bunk and walked over to the entrance of his cell, the energy bars still sizzling with crackling power. A man with a black mask draped over his eyes stood before him, a look of excitement on his face. “Who the fuck are you?” “Is that any way to treat the man who can free you?” the strange Latin man asked. Hammerhead smiled, nodding his head and standing back from the beams of energy. The masked man punched a sequence of keys into the pad and within seconds the bars disappeared, their power source turned off. The gangster cracked his knuckles, sure that the respect he deserved had finally come his way. “Sorry, un momento,” the masked man said, placing his hand on Hammerhead’s chest to halt him in his tracks. The leering smile across the bottom of his face grew all the more sinister. “You misunderstand. You won’t be leaving this place.” “What the fu--HYUK!” Hammerhead bounced back onto the floor of his cell, the swift feet of the masked man knocking him down before he could react. “The Tarantula has been given a job to do,” the masked man said, referring to himself. “The Octopus sends his regards.” Hammerhead swore as his anger bubbled up, shades of red dotting his vision. He was surprised that the squid had the audacity to send an assassin, but it didn’t matter. This rank amateur wouldn’t be able to take him down, not by a long shot. The mob boss stood up again, slowly turning his neck from side to side to loosen his muscles. “Gonna try to kill me, eh?” Hammerhead commented. “You think you can? Huh? You think you fucking can? You know who I am? Do you?” “A target,” the Tarantula replied casually, lightly bouncing on the tips of his toes in preparation to make his next strike. Hammerhead leaned forward and bolted straight for his assailant, the top of his chrome skull aimed for the Latino. He let out a shriek, a battle cry, summoning the strength that had made him the top dog out on the streets. The weapon he had taken his namesake from had crushed men twice the size of this lowlife. He would have no trouble wiping the blood off of his face afterwards. “Idiota.” The Tarantula sidestepped the bulldozing mobster, spinning his left leg into the air and bringing it crashing down on the back of Hammerhead’s neck. Knocked off course, the mob boss crashed into the side his cell’s entrance, falling to the floor dazed. The Tarantula, after tightening his mask once more, followed up his initial attack with a swift kick to Hammerhead’s midsection, eliciting a gasping noise from his throat. Leaning down, the Tarantula slapped one of the negation pads that Octavius had given him onto Hammerhead’s neck. The small device adhered and Hammerhead’s eyes went blank, as did his mind. The patch, aside from negating the dampeners in the Vault, was also able to invade a person’s mind. The Tarantula laughed, happy with how easily he had accomplished his task. He left the single cell, heading down the hallway to free more prisoners. Hammerhead laid on the cold floor, his mind quickly fading into nothingness except for simple commands being overwritten into his psyche by the nega-pad. His last thought before he lost it altogether was that he would crush the life out of the squid if it was the last thing he did. Letter From Prison This arc just keeps getting longer and longer! Originally it was only supposed to be two issues, but here we are at number four. The issue will wrap everything up, I promise! I just keep getting these cool scenes in my head that I can't stand to not toss in…but we’ll see a conclusion next issue. Now, just one letter this time around, but it’s a long one:
Thanks for the letter, Alex! Project: Pegasus was indeed the precursor to what we know now as The Vault, and yes, Ravencroft is still out there. In fact, I’ll be making reference to that facility fairly soon (as there’s a prisoner transfer coming down the line). Another prison used within M2K is Tartarus, a complex based out of Metro City that frequently appears within Daniel Ingram’s FORCE WORKS title. Maybe we’ll have some interaction with that place down the line, too… As for men and women both in the general population, you’ll notice that they aren’t. The only female character introduced in the book so far has been Typhoid Mary (#3) and she’s locked up with men because it’s a special containment area. I don’t plan on having any heroes on staff at The Vault because that would really take away from what the book is intended to be. These stories are largely about the villains and how they deal with being on the inside. A point I made very apparent in the first issue was that there are no Avengers, there is no Fantastic Four…it’s just the Guardsmen. These guys are on their own when it comes to confining the most dangerous men and women alive. Besides, Rhodey is all the hero they need! And a giant force field generator? Hmm… I was planning on using the repercussions from this first arc to give reason for funding an overhaul of The Vault’s security features. Sort of like “Hey, see what just happened? We weren’t prepared for this. Let’s remodel.” Maybe I’ll toss a force field thingy in there. People like the Vulture, who are considered super-criminals, get sent to The Vault all the time. In fact, right before Marvel rebooted the Vulture’s character (remember when he stole Spidey’s youth energy or whatever it was?) he was imprisoned in The Vault. It doesn’t matter if you have powers, you just have to be labeled as a costumed menace. And yes, that is the same Nightmare you’re thinking of, but the way I’ll use him in the series may not be how you’re assuming (meaning he’s not an inmate). Keep those letters coming! Next issue we’ll see Ock’s plans through and Rhodes struggling for survival in a prison for mad. Thanks to all who have given feedback! -D.
Golightly
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