WHAT IF...? has taken you to many different worlds, and has allowed you to see many different possibilities, all of which spring from one universe: the Marvel Universe with which many of you are familiar--the Marvel Universe that has presented those possibilities for over thirty-five years. This tale of WHAT IF...? will allow you to explore that universe even further, and learn a possible truth to a missing year, as it asks the question...What if the Avengers never broke up?

"Go on, kill me. That's why you're here, right?" Jim Rhodes said between tired breaths. Whoever this was wearing the alien War Machine armor had caught him off-guard as he was working on his tanker's computer network*. Three laser-shots to the arm later, Rhodes was almost ready to give up. "Don't worry, I'm not hurt that you stole my identity; I gave it up a while back. But, I gotta know, where did you get the Warwear from?"

(*see last issue)

The humming suit of multicolored armor remained silent as it stood over Rhodes' weary body and took aim with one of the various weapons at its disposal.

"Silent treatment, huh? Then I guess I can't let you kill me!" He delivered a forceful suede loafer into the War Machine's artificial abdomen. War Machine seemed puzzled, but not overwhelmed, and certainly not immobilized. Still, the blow was enough to give Rhodes time to get to his feet--not enough time to get out of the room, however. Before Rhodes could escape, War Machine made precise, almost robotic movements into his path.

Jim Rhodes could only imagine what this person wanted on this old oil tanker. Then it came to him: could it be the files that the Navy had mistakenly left on the ship? Rhodes had gone through many of them, and found them to be of little importance; still, this War Machine did not know that. Rhodes had to get to the computer and shut it off to keep the information out of War Machine's hands.

His thoughts were interrupted by another blast of energy that just missed his head. This War Machine really was trying to kill him. But instead of making his way to the dark, cramped room's other exit, he returned to the computer console that he had earlier been working at. Just as War Machine fired another errant shot at him, he stabbed at the power control on the console, shutting the computer off, and, to his surprise, causing War Machine to fade out of sight.

"No...way. It disappeared." In the calm that ensued, Rhodes at last realized what had extraordinarily occurred here: somehow, the armor that he had uploaded those months ago* had found a way out of the computer, and onto this tanker. What he did not know was what the armor wanted to kill him for. Could it have to do with the Avengers, who were off in New York, but who had taken up residence in the Gulf of Mexico on his ship? Could it have to do with his abrupt decision to leave Stark/Fujikawa? Could it be something else?

(*see TALES OF THE MARVEL UNIVERSE)

As these questions wound themselves through Rhodes' mind, his heart nearly stopped once he heard the familiar hum of the War Machine armor from outside, in the corridor. Somehow, it was returning. The realist that Rhodes was, he knew it was entirely possible that he was going to die this night.

For months now, Avengers Mansion had been a bustling center of justice. Under normal circumstances, this pleased Edwin Jarvis--these were not normal circumstances. S.H.I.E.L.D. had adopted the mansion as a command point, and treated the aged building as such, and nothing more. The Avengers never regarded the mansion so; they had resided in it as it was meant to be lived in. They had treated it with respect. But they were gone now, many victims of Onslaught, and the rest unwilling to reform the team.

Jarvis, however, could not see the mansion completely overrun by a cold, impersonal organization, and so he continued his servitude there. With the messes that S.H.I.E.L.D. made, heavens knew the old place needed him.

As he walked past the doorway, he noticed some commotion. Upon further investigation, he sighted Quasar and a young woman at the entrance, apparently attempting to set foot in the home, but being rejected by one of the many S.H.I.E.L.D. officers at the mansion.

"Let them in, officer," he prompted. "Master Quasar has been a most trusted member of the Avengers."

"It's not Quasar we're worried about," the officer replied. "He was S.H.I.E.L.D. for a while, too, and an old pal as well. It's his lady friend. She has no clearance whatsoever."

Jarvis put a hand on the man's shoulder. "I assure you, Master Quasar's choice in friends cannot be disputed. Am I correct?"

"Oh, most certainly, Jarvis!" Holding the young, dark-haired woman's hand, Quasar side-stepped the S.H.I.E.L.D. officer and stepped through the door. "Jarvis, meet Beth Hallsworth, also known as the lovely Limbo. Beth, meet Edwin--"

Limbo reached out to shake Jarvis' hand. "No need to introduce this man! He's the world famous butler to the Avengers!" Jarvis blushed.

As Limbo hurried to tour the mansion, the S.H.I.E.L.D. officer warned, "Watch her, Wen!"

"Maybe I should watch you," Quasar replied. "Remember, I'm the only one who knows about that poppy-filled cigar you slipped Dugan. Poor old bronc was out of commission for a week!"

Jarvis and Quasar walked down the mansion's halls, side by side, while Limbo remained several feet ahead, her eyes filled with child-like wonder at the glorious home of the mighty Avengers.

"She's not...clumsy, Master Quasar, is she? She's come terribly close to a few of Master Stark's vases."

"Fortunately, no, Jarvis. She can handle herself. That's...that's why I like her so much."

"And what brings you two lovebirds to the mansion?"

Quasar smiled. Was his unofficial relationship with Beth that obvious? "Hard times lately, Jarvis. I've got Beth, but it seems like we have no place to go. And the places I can be, I don't want to go to. The mansion, though, it's always welcomed me."

Jarvis placed a reassuring hand on Quasar's back. "And it always will. This mansion has stood tall in the greatest of storms, and it will stand past your problems, whatever they be." The two turned a corner, struggling to keep pace with Limbo. "Besides, you above most every other Avenger can control your difficulties. That is what makes you such a noble person. That is why you can wear the Quantum Bands."

Flattered, Quasar could hardly reply. He paused, staring down at his all-powerful bands, and contemplating the old butler's insights. For all that Jarvis knew, he was unaware of the current, less noble incarnation of Avengers. Quasar could not help but feel that Jarvis, of any person, should have known. But...he could not. "Thank you for that, Jarvis. Look, Beth and I had better go. We've got someone...um...waiting. I don't want to lose him."

"Say no more, Master Quasar. You're the 'Cosmic Avenger,' and I imagine your life is full of mysterious exploits."

Quasar grimaced. "You don't know the half!"

Moments later, Quasar and Limbo teleported back to a lonelier section of Central Park, where they were greeted by the frustrated form of Uysses Klaw, who had been trapped in a sound-proof, golden prison, courtesy of Quasar's Quantum Bands.

Once Quasar disabled the construct, Klaw's protests began. "How dare you, Marvel Boy?! That was beyond cruel and unusual punishment! That was--" His objections were interrupted by a searing blast of cosmic power, and the imposing figure of Thanos of Titan!

Carol Danvers--Binary--was seated alone at the bar, several drinks tucked wantonly away in her thin, delicate stomach. Hours ago, she was able to change from her Binary outfit into something more civilian; she had been trying just as long to change her mood so easily. After the night she had just been through, however, she had earned a drink or...twelve.

Through the blurred vision of her bloodshot eyes, Carol noticed a woman in rather elegant clothing--elegant for these wee morning hours--enter the bar. A prostitute? No, too classy. More like a business woman. Tall, lean, long blonde hair, striking eyes--in fact, Carol flattered herself to note how similar she looked to this beauty. This woman was more than lovely, however. She appeared to be someone with a head on her shoulders, full of equanimity. Someone who would understand a person's problems. And, fortunately for Carol, someone who was walking her way.

"You mind if I sit down?" the woman asked as she approached Carol.

"Go on. I could use someone to talk to." Carol put down her drink glass and extended a limp hand. "I'm Carol."

The woman returned the gesture. "Karen Sophist. I'm a doctor--a psychologist. I practice just down the street."

"Just the woman I need to talk to."

"That's...obvious," Karen smiled, peering across the bar at all of Carol's emptied liquor glasses, and probably wondering just how many times the bartender had already been by to clean up her debris. "What are your troubles?"

This was the perfect opportunity for Carol to take a load off, and let her problems out. However, it was also a perfect opportunity, in her drunken state, to let the Avengers' secret out. She chose her words carefully--the cursed secret! "It's my job. And the people I work with. Nothing's stable. Nothing's right."

"Oh? How so?" Karen seemed genuinely interested in Carol's ills.

"Well, you see, I took this job. I had nothing better to do, and I felt like I needed it at the time. But, as time wore on, it didn't seem right. There was no one I could relate to--well, except for this one man. He was a godsend."

"And his name?"

"Her...man!. Big guy. Strong as an ox. Anyway, tonight, on his way to see...the boss, he told me he was...resigning. He was having the same problems with the job as I was. It felt wrong to him, just like it felt wrong to me. Plus, he found another job. A better job."

Karen leaned in closer. "So now you feel alone, right?"

"He was all that kept me here, fighting." She paused, taking another swig of her bourbon. "And, even worse, is I didn't make things much better for myself tonight. I defied...the boss*. It's a miracle she didn't fire me. In a lot of ways, I wish she had. I wish I had an excuse to leave...but then I would be the same old Carol Danvers, always shifting homes, never...stable." She recalled her days with the Air Force, and the Avengers, and the X-Men, and the Starjammers, and...

(*see last issue)

"Well, tell me, why did you defy your boss?" Karen asked.

"I don't know. I mean, I know, but I'm not sure why I did just what I did. Maybe it was the booze. Or maybe I'm just fed up with it all."

Karen put a hand on Carol's well-built shoulder. "Maybe it's that you're the only sane person in an insane organization." Carol seemed to consider this insight. "Look, Carol, I've had patients who have had this same problem. It's not uncommon. And in almost every case, it's always best to leave the situation, and go on your own. There is nothing left for you there...but pain."

"Maybe...you're right." Carol stared hard into her drink. "Maybe."

Karen gazed at her watch. "You know, I'd better get going. It's almost sunrise! I need to catch some sleep!"

Carol looked disappointed to see Karen go. "But, you never got a drink."

"I did my part, Carol," Karen replied as she glided out the door.

And Avenger--soon-to-be-ex-Avenger?--Carol Danvers was alone again at the bar.

Don't cry, Natasha told herself. Don't, she pleaded, as a tear fell down her cheek.

How could she not? While she was the driving force behind the apparently-reluctant band of Avengers, Hercules was the heart and soul of the team. He was what kept the team together. And now he was gone, and she had to wonder, how long would it be before the team fell apart--how long until Zemo and the Thunderbolts claimed victory?

"You know, you've been up here a long time, lady. A few hours, by my count."

Black Widow's attention turned to the man standing behind her on the rooftop. "Bullseye!"

"Bingo, babe. Now isn't this the part where you ask me what I'm doing here, and I tell you I've been following your every move for the past few days, and then I charge you, and you punch me, and then I throw a dagger straight into your gut?" He pulled a dagger from his leg holster and launched it at Black Widow. "Let's cut to the chase, shall we?" As she lunged out of the blade's path, it struck her airborne calf, causing her to cry out in pain.

"Following me? Why?" Black Widow asked as she rose to her feet and hobbled into a more battle-ready stance. She lunged at Bullseye, but he was nearly as agile as she, and dodged her charging leg. As she passed overhead, he shot a fist into her stomach, and could feel her lost air expel itself from her lungs as she fell limply to the ground.

"You're a dangerous woman, Widow. I've sparred with you enough times to realize this. And now...well, now I know better than to let you roam free." He pulled a handful of small throwing stars and hurled them at Black Widow; of the ten, six found their mark in various parts of her anatomy. "Does it hurt yet?"

She grabbed fruitlessly, hoping to pull one of the stars from her back. When that failed, she pulled the two from her thighs. This was too easy for Bullseye. She was bleeding, gasping for air, and losing badly.

"Where's Daredevil? Better yet, where are your precious Avengers?" Bullseye paused, ready to fling another another set of stars, and he laughed. "Oh, that's right...they're dead!"

Black Widow turned to face her predator, and muttered through her grunts of anguish, "I"m all I need."

In truth, she wanted--she needed--Hercules. But he was gone, and it was her fault. And, perhaps, it would be her doom.

Bullseye approached. "Can I kill you now?"

In the familiar lair of two of the world's most devious of villains, television monitors were lit, and cast long, deep, dark shadows across its residents.

"Just as you planned!" exclaimed the seated figure.

"Calm yourself. The work is not yet done. Until the last Avenger falls, it will not be."

"Oh, this is just too good! No, wait, it's just too...evil!"

TO BE CONTINUED!