---

Rhino’s fists pounded against the three feet of titanium alloy that comprised the entrance to the Strongroom. Dents formed on top of dents as his knuckles pummeled the door, beating like a sickening ceremonial war drum. With each hit the door was nudged off its track, gently settling back down for a split second before his other fist bashed into it. Others gathered around him, completely silent, waiting for the door to fully open so they could venture into the room and eliminate the last of the personnel’s resistance.

The heavyweight criminal known as the Rhino had never been known for his intellect, but his level of reasoning was usually on par with most others. Now his mind was completely clean of thoughts other than what Octavius had instructed him to do. He had to get into the Strongroom and when he did those he found inside would be crushed between his fingers like insects.

“That’s it, boys,” the Looter said from behind the pack with glee. “Tear it down so we can have some fun.”

Norton Fester eagerly rubbed one fist with the other, hoping that when he entered the room there would be enough left of someone inside for him to rip apart. Octavius had put him in charge of the operation and he was going to make sure things went smoothly. He had only been caged up for a couple days but already he felt the walls closing in on him. He wanted to lash out, break down, flip over, and destroy something pure.

With one final rupturing shove of his massive fist, the Rhino succeeded in knocking the huge doors off the track enough that they were visibly separated in the center. The Looter pushed his way to the front of the pack, inmates who would normally be exclaiming anger at his actions now completely docile. He hollered for the Rhino to hold on while he used his own strength to widen the opening between the doors.

He could see inside the room. There were probably a dozen people splashed around the place, all of them staring at him through the freshly opened crevice. He smiled at them as he opened the doors wide enough for him to walk through, a maniacal look of happiness draped over his unshaven face.

“Didn’t you here us knocking?” he asked no one in particular. “What if we were a bunch of orphans? You know, it’s rude not to answer the door when you have guests.”

“Shut your face, monkey.”

The Looter turned to see the warden rolling his thick cigar between his lips, somehow conveying the disdain he obviously housed for the inmates through the simple motion. Norton stalked across the room and slapped down the brown cigar, his face mere inches from Miguel’s.

“I remember you,” the Looter said accusingly. “You’re the guy that runs this joint. You stood there and laughed when I was brought in. You told me to give up and accept it. Well, guess what, bucko. You’re not laughing anymore.”

“But I will be in a minute, you ridiculous piece of shit,” the warden shot back.

“Oh yeah? And why is that?”

“Because we only let you in here so we could corner anyone who isn’t wearing one of those patches.”

Confusion blasted away any feeling of superiority the Looter possessed. He looked around nervously, unsure of what the warden meant by his statement. Suddenly, a number of thumps sounded behind him. He whirled around into the fist of one of the technicians, rattling his jaw. Another technician brought his knee into Norton’s abdomen while another sent a kick into the back of his knees.

He wiped the blood off of his chin and looked at the other inmates that had entered the room. Rhino, Berzerker, Shocker, a half dozen others…they were all unconscious on the floor.

“Directional matrix waves,” the warden said. “It’s the latest in Stark wartime communications. It’s pretty slick. You can beam a radio wave directly into any receiver on the planet by using a satellite to generate a condensed coded transmission. Apparently those little patches you slipped onto everyone had a voice activation capability. We just used concentrated sound waves from space to shut your pals’ brains off.”

Miguel Jones angled his right foot back and slammed it into the side of the Looter’s head. The prisoner sprawled out across the floor as consciousness slipped away from him. The last thing he saw was the warden lighting up another cigar and placing it in his mouth, puffing away happily.

“Guess Rhodes’ plan worked,” Miguel said. “He didn’t sound too confident when he gave us the codes to access the Stark satellite. Hell, I was surprised we still had a modem in here.”

“What do we do next, warden?” one of the technicians asked.

“Now we wait ten minutes like Rhodes said, then hit the entire compound with the transmission and give him a fighting chance to take the rest of the monkeys down.”

---

Octavius stood in the center of the room, staring down the large door that kept him from something he held dear. Behind the thick protective door was a chamber where he knew his extra appendages were. Without his adamantium extensions he felt like a simpleton, a man that had been severed from half of his body. The room was cold and sterile, like most of the Vault, only it housed a set of secrets that Octavius needed to have. Weapons, amassed and taken from the inmates upon containment, were all housed in one place.

When he had been captured he knew that the arms had been transported with him. He could feel their presence, he just couldn’t reach out to them. The room was equipped with psychic suppressers that cut off his mental connection with the deadly arms, infuriating him to no end.

But now it was time for Doctor Octopus to become whole once more.

Footsteps feel from somewhere behind him, alerting him to the presence of another. “Have they returned from the Strongroom yet?” he asked over his shoulder. He expected one of his lackeys to be the one who entered, reporting to him that the last safe spot in the Vault was now under his control.

“There’s been a change in plans.”

Octavius clenched his teeth in fury. His molars mashed together with almost enough strength to damage the enamel. Slowly turning to face whoever had spoken he felt dangerously close to the edge. His usually precise demeanor was running the risk of cracking from his stifled anger. From behind his shaded glasses he saw a toned black man who dropped some sort of black and white gauntlet to the floor. In his other hand he held a bent metal rod, a pipe of some sort, that was caked with dried blood.

“Used up the last bit of juice to knock out one of your goons,” Rhodes stated, motioning to the dropped gauntlet with the pipe. “Spymaster, I think. Pretty clever keeping some guys away from those patches just in case. It’s all over now, though. Your little army of supervillains is in dreamland thanks to me. You’re finished here.”

“I would ask who you are but the name of a dead man means nothing to me,” Octavius said through his teeth.

“I’m the guy you overlooked. Now get on your knees and put your hands behi—HYUK!”

The foot struck from out of nowhere and caught the back of Rhodes’ head. He fell forward, dropping the pipe and rolling on the ground, springing back up to his feet, watchful of his surroundings. His attacker stood just inside the doorway, sporting the gray overalls of an inmate and a black mask tightly wrapped around the top of his head.

“I think it is you who are acabado, my friend,” the Tarantula said.

“Kill him,” Octavius commanded.

The Tarantula’s feet shot out at Rhodes in a flurry of movement. He style was full of grace and endurance, never stopping and always striking. His right leg bashed into Rhodes side, quickly followed by two quick strikes with his left leg. In between hits he bounced on the tips of his toes, swaying back and forth to build momentum for his next attack.

Rhodes managed to block one kick but another broke through his defenses before he knew what was happening. The Tarantula was quick, quicker than him. He was still exhausted from battling the Adaptoid and he had the bruises to prove it. But he was so close to ending this, so close to clamping down on these ignorant animals. He hadn’t come this far to be taken down by a freak in an exaggerated do-rag.

“You must be un fucker insano to be taking me on. Do you know who I am? I am the suramericano who is going to be tearing your tongue out when I am done with you.”

Another kick to the side of his face sent Rhodes down to one knee. He felt hot blood fill up his mouth and he spit the red liquid onto the gray floor. It dribbled out from between his teeth and lips like a viscous entity that refused to be expelled. He looked up just in time to see another boot crunch into the bridge of his nose. He heard a dull snap just as it connected and knew that his nose was broken.

“I am the ángel de la muerte as far as you are concerned.”

The Tarantula gleefully bounced into the stance that he would unleash the killing blow from. He swung his right leg back and let it fly for Rhodes’ head, anxiously awaiting the fractured sound of the supposed hero’s skull cracking.

Rhodes raised his arm at the exact moment the Tarantula’s leg would have connected, catching it under his armpit and holding it close. He twisted the captured ankle, spraining it, and said, “Yeah, well, I’m not that concerned.”

The Tarantula lost his balance and fell onto his back. A second was all it took for Rhodes to be on top of him, the pipe back in his hand, slashing down and knocking him out cold. He hit the villain with such force that the already bent pipe cracked completely in half, clattering to the floor uselessly. He dropped the Spaniard’s leg and feebly stood up, his own balance close to being lost.

He heard Octavius exclaim something triumphantly and then the hissing sound of unlocking doors pierced his ears like a train whistle. He had accessed the chamber and was about to enter, unless Rhodes could stop him. Once he got a hold of his mechanical arms the first thing he would do was extract Rhodes’ skull while he was still conscious.

“Where…” Octavius mumbled. “Where are they? I can feel them…”

He searched frantically for the inanimate missing piece of his soul. Without it he only felt like half a man and now he was so close to being whole again. He could almost pinpoint the adamantium arms but the psychic suppressors were keeping him from doing so. He rushed passed several weapons he would normally find useful but at the moment he only had a one track mind.

Silver ray guns, explosive boomerangs, electrified whips, massive body suits…the confiscated weapons had mostly been defused and were awaiting study by the Commission on Superhuman Activities. Octavius ran by them all, homing in on his beloved extensions and the returned power they promised him.

Then, like a shining star hovering over his heart’s desire, he saw a ceiling light illuminating the arms in the far corner of the room. He hopped over a crate full of pumpkin bombs and rushed to them, a tear nearly welling up in his eye. For Octavius it was like finding a long lost child he had almost given up hope on.

“Finally,” he said. “We have reached our conclusion.”

“The conclusion is where you got tired of thinking.”

The thin cord of a depowered electrified whip wrapped around Octavius’ neck, pulling him to the ground. Rhodes’ weathered fingers held just enough strength to still be of use. He yanked on the whip slightly to hold Otto in place without choking him…too much.

“What did you think was going to happen?” Rhodes asked. “Your plans are as good as wiped out, your little coup has been stopped, all your toy soldiers—”

“My moti…motivations have always remained strongest right…before my fall,” the villain replied through stolen breaths. “That is the time to stand tall and persevere. You think y…yourself a hero. You wouldn’t understand.”

“You’re right about that.” Rhodes pulled Octavius up to his feet and wrapped the remaining length of the whip around his wrists as a makeshift pair of handcuffs. He leveled his eyes at the leader of the revolt who had come so close to overthrowing the most sophisticated detention center on the planet, ripping his sunglasses off in one swift stroke. Octavius winced from the motion but kept his eyes open to return Rhodes’ gaze.

“And I’m always going to be at my strongest right before I knock you down,” Rhodes finally replied. “There’s a new sheriff in town, Doc. Get used to it.”

---

Letters From Prison