MV1 presents THE AVENGERS
“From Bad To Worse!”
Issue 441

Plot by Gary “Mad Dog” Dreslinski
Script by Dale “Boone’s Farm” Glaser
Assists: Doc “additionals” Skorupa

40,000 FEET ABOVE : JOHANNESBURG, SOUTH AFRICA

The ballet-like artistry of simultaneously flying forward and throwing a roundhouse punch was something that Carol Danvers had mastered fairly early in her super-heroic career as Ms. Marvel. In many ways it was symbolic of her dual life; Carol Danvers, air force lieutenant, had learned in basic training how to defend herself and take the offensive with only her bare hands, while Ms. Marvel, Kree-enhanced mystery woman with powers far beyond mortal women, was able to soar through the sky. Taken as a whole, she was in fact stronger than her proverbial parts, and a wayward freight train-sized meteor bore witness to that fact as her flying roundhouse connected with it and the plummeting rock was pulverized into small, harmless fragments in the stratosphere over the Cape of Good Hope.

Ms. Marvel could have released a blast of any number of energy frequencies to dispense with the meteorite which had threatened Johannesburg with deadly impact, but sometimes it just felt good to cut loose and pummel things with her black-gloved knuckles. And as Ms. Marvel watched the meteor-pebbles fall below her, she realized that she felt much better now than she had twenty minutes before. At that time, she had been sitting atop the Empire State Building with her fellow Avenger, Quasar, discussing the problems facing the entire team.* No, not problems … problems could be solved. These days, the Avengers had issues, and Carol felt powerless to fix anything. So did Wendell, if her interpretation of his comments earlier was accurate. And on some level she would never consciously admit to herself, she suspected even Steve felt powerless to fix the Avengers. And so the team was just trudging along, as best it could.

(* - Last issue, of course – DG)

Now, though, Ms. Marvel was doing something that needed doing. Problem? Great big boulders from outer space dive-bombing a South African city. Solution? Flying fists to smash it to smithereens. She knew it was stupid, or at the very least childish, but Carol admitted that it felt good. And the good people of Johannesburg were safe.

Gazing down on the city from her altitude, Ms. Marvel reconsidered her last thought. It wasn’t so very long ago that the ideas of “South Africa” and “good” wouldn’t have been used together in a sentence. The abstract injustice and the very concrete violence associated with the policy of Apartheid were not “good” in the slightest. It was eerie, Carol realized, how closely that idea mirrored the conversation she had been having with Quasar earlier, when she had made an offhand joke about the ‘Aryan Avengers.’ Were they becoming the Sun City superheroes?

Ms. Marvel shook her head. Apples and oranges - It just wasn’t the same. There was no Avengers policy prohibiting non-white members, or segregating second-class Avengers based on ethnicity; the very notion was patently absurd. Societies at their best had to support some version of ‘all men created equal’, but the Avengers were not a society. They had a job to do. Everyone on Earth should be entitled to life, liberty and happiness, but not everyone on Earth could channel the power of a star or quantum bands or control their density or talk to bugs. Those who could, and who heeded the call to serve mankind with those abilities, got to do the job. If it just so happened that everyone in that extremely narrow subset also happened to have blond hair and blue eyes, that wasn’t a racial issue, it was a dumb coincidence. At least the job was getting done. End of story.

Carol nodded at her own train of thought, confident that she had put the matter to rest for now. Then she chuckled at herself, and at the multiple references to the Declaration of Independence in her inner diatribe. She had definitely been spending way too much time with Steve. Not that that was inherently a bad thing.

Ms. Marvel’s communicard buzzed, and Carol removed it from the inner folds of the sash around her waist. Thumbing the device to life, she saw the view-screen split in half, with Wendell Vaughn’s face on one side, and the darker features of Forge on the other. “Ms. Marvel, report,” Forge said.

“I’m here,” she answered. “The incoming bogies over South Africa are a done deal.”

“I escorted the meteor that was heading towards Oslo out to sea, as well,” Quasar informed his teammates on the communications link-up. “Had the quantum bands run a deep scan over it too, while I was at it - nothing unusual. Typical composition for space junk. I have no idea why the meteor shower broke up the way it did.”

“So we have no evidence of a force behind the anomaly. If it was an attack, it was a clumsy one,” Forge replied. “The damage of the first few meteors was minimal, and you two have intercepted all of the larger rocks before they threatened anything.”

“Gee, Forge, that almost sounded like you were telling us we did a good job,” Quasar said.

“If you need that kind of validation, Quasar, why don’t you come back to the mansion and see if there’s a tourist or two hanging around looking for hero autographs,” Forge said brusquely.

Ms. Marvel tilted the communicard slightly in her hand, another trick she had learned over the years. It obscured the view her teammates had of her face, and hid the fact that she was currently rolling her eyes and smiling in spite of herself. She realized that Wendell, despite his ultra-straight delivery, was being sarcastic in the first place, and that Forge had completely missed it. Once her face was composed in a more business-like mien, Carol returned to looking directly into the view-screen. “I’m sure we’ll both be back to the mansion as soon as we can, Forge,” she assured the team’s government liaison.

“Fine. See you then. Forge out.” Forge disconnected from the link-up.

“Alone again,” Quasar sighed. “So, race you back to New York? I’ll give you a head start.”

“Kid, I’m already on my way,” Ms. Marvel replied, before clicking off the communicard and replacing it in her belt sash. In a corona of stellar energy, she made good on her word.

MIDTOWN MANHATTAN

The venerable old banking institution had originally been built in days when red clay bricks were baked by hand, and over the years the building made concessions to changing technology only grudgingly. Hence, the alarm system still consisted of steel bells and clappers, which were currently blang-blang-blang-ing with surprising force. The first police cruiser, which had only been three blocks away, was already in front of the bank. Two uniformed officers, weapons drawn, waited behind the black-and-white for backup.

Backup soon arrived, but not in the form of New York’s Finest. If the two policemen were disappointed, they did not show it.

“Captain America!” the junior partner of the duo gaped. “What are you doing here?”

Captain America tilted his head back only slightly - a gesture intended to encompass the two other heroes flanking him: Yellowjacket and the Vision. “We’re here to help, sergeant,” Captain America replied. He hoped the confidence he projected was believable. In truth he was hesitant to ask anyone to put their trust in them at all. These days he hardly felt that he, or the Avengers as a whole, deserved it. Yet he refused to be paralyzed by the team’s poor performance. The only way to get the team functioning correctly was to show the team it could win. Foiling a bank heist would do nicely.

He looked at the more experienced officer and asked, “What’s the situation here?”

“Straightforward robbery,” the senior cop answered, scratching absently at his beard. He was just as awestruck as his younger partner by the star-spangled Avenger, but did a better job of acting professional. “But there was some indication that a supervillain might be involved, so we were … that is, policy says we can’t …”

“You did the right thing … Sergeant Carver,” Yellowjacket assured the police officer, reading his name above his badge. “Now just let us do our thing.”

“Right,” Captain America nodded. “Let’s get in there - and remember, hostage safety always comes first. I’ll take the point, give them a chance to end this peacefully or draw their fire. Vision, cover my back. Yellowjacket, keep a watch on my right side in case I’m taking fire on my shield arm.… above all, just be ready.”

Yellowjacket nodded. The Vision remained motionless.

The sentinel of liberty walked toward the door of the bank, a door replaced many times over the years but still made of wood to reflect the historical significance of the building. Yellowjacket followed closely, and the Vision, still eerily silent, floated in their wake a few inches off the ground.

Captain America pushed the door open and stepped inside. The floor was tiled in marble, and dark mahogany counters formed an inverse U facing him. A brass railing stood around the small foyer of the building. No one was visible inside the bank, but the vault door, behind the counters, was ajar. It appeared somewhat damaged as well. The steel bells continued to drum out a high-pitched frenzy of percussive sound.

“This is Captain America and the Avengers!” the Captain shouted over the ringing din. “Surrender peacefully or …”

Captain America never had a chance to finish his ultimatum. A blast of energy sizzled out from the opening in the vault door. Captain America raised his shield and deflected the energy blast, but the force of contact knocked him backward, driving him into the wooden door of the bank, slamming it shut.

“Careless,” Captain America thought as he realized his teammates were shut out, then he relaxed as the Vision floated insubstantially through the wall. Quickly the synthezoid rose to the height of the ceiling and positioned himself in the center of the room to cover all areas.

A figure slowly walked out of the vault.

Despite a strange costume, the form of the would-be bank robber was easy to identify as female. The heavy red leathers adorned with wide belts and silver buckles clung to a curvaceous form. The thief’s face, however (and in fact her entire head) were obscured by a perfectly spherical helmet that resembled a huge human eyeball. As the oddly-dressed robber exited the vault, holding several steel safe-deposit boxes under her arm, the ocular helmet swiveled around, taking in the entire chamber. Then, inexplicably, the criminal turned around to peer into the vault again.

Captain America had stepped aside, to allow Yellowjacket to enter through the front door. “Whoa, who do we have here?” Yellowjacket asked.

“That looks like the Orb,” Captain America answered. “But, if memory serves, Hawkeye filed a report not long ago saying the Orb was dead … of course, stranger things…”

“And a guy, too, right?” Yellowjacket prompted.

“I will access my copy of the Avengers database,” Vision responded. However, a moment later the synthezoid’s face went slack, while his arms fell loosely to his sides. “A queen … in red …”

“Vision?” Captain America demanded. Was this another attack from the Orb, or was his fellow Avenger suffering from something else? Something he, the nominal leader of the team, had been too self-absorbed to notice?

“He’s out of it Cap, blown a fuse again or somethin’,” Yellowjacket said. “But never fear, I’m here to pick up the slack!” With that, Yellowjacket vaulted over the brass rail, leaped onto one of the mahogany counters near the vault door, and braced himself on its surface with his hands and delivered a swift kick between the Orb’s shoulder blades.

No sooner had he done so than another shape burst from the vault door. A yellow and green blur exploded from within the vault and tackled Yellowjacket. “Never thought I’d be thanking an Avenger,” Frog-Man croaked, “but since Eyeball over there tried to horn in on my territory, I guess I owe you one for bitch-slapping her for me!” Yellowjacket hit the floor, with Frog-Man on top of him, and then the villain sprang away on his powerful legs, jumping back toward the Orb. Yellowjacket quickly returned to his feet, embarrassed to be caught like a rank amateur.

The Orb was already regaining her feet. “You shouldn’t have taken your peepers off me!” she yelled, as a bolt of energy erupted from the iris in the center of her helmet. It struck Frog-Man in the chest and sent him flying into the far wall.

“Enough of this,” Captain America thought. He hurled his shield across the bank, striking the Orb’s helmet and dropping her immediately. The Captain bounded toward her, catching his shield easily as it ricocheted toward him. He soon stood over the fallen Orb, and he reached down to pick up the safe-deposit boxes.

“Those are mine!” Frog-Man shrieked, changing course with a bounce off a nearby counter. He pistoned both legs into the small of Captain America’s back and sent him reeling. “The other Ani-Men are all hitting other banks across the city, and I don’t want to be the one who comes back empty-handed! You do not want to know what it’s like to be on Cat-Man or Ape-Man’s bad side!”

“Cry me a river, Kermit,” Yellowjacket growled, pulling himself up enough to fire a stinger blast at Frog-Man. The Ani-Man stiffened as the bio-electric energy assaulted his nervous system. Yellowjacket poured on the juice, and hoped the swiftness of his retaliation would gain some forgiveness from Captain America. The Frog-Man had struck the Avengers leader from behind his right side: The area that Yellowjacket had been charged to guard before they walked into the bank.

The Orb’s helmet provided enough protection from the impact of Captain America’s shield that the villainess was dazed, not unconscious. She grabbed Frog-Man’s arm and pulled him away from Yellowjacket’s assault. She hissed, “Idiot! If we don’t cooperate, neither one of us will get out of here!”

“No ‘if’ can mitigate that assessment,” the cold voice of the Vision floated down from the ceiling. “My apologies, Captain, Yellowjacket - I seem to be functioning correctly now.” Twin beams of solar vision lanced outward from the synthezoid’s eyes, and struck down the Orb and Frog-Man.

Finally, both criminals were still.

Captain America stood up and realized he could now see four bank employees who had been present during the robbery, huddling in a corner behind the counters. There had been civilians in the room, and their offensive weapons - shield, stingers, and solar rays - had been at work. “Sloppy - and dangerous. Someone could have easily been hurt, and we were only against minor leaguers,” he thought. The looks of fear on the bank employees faces, not eased in the slightest by the appearance or performance of the Avengers, was all he needed to see to know that it would be another day before the team deserved the public’s trust.

Captain America turned to his teammates. “Take Orb and Frog-Man outside to the police. We’ve done enough damage for one day,” he said.

AVENGERS MANSION

Forge sat at his desk. Dozens of folders, papers and printouts, photos and photocopies covered the wide oak surface. The only light in the room came from a small gooseneck lamp on the corner of the desk. The newest government liaison to the Avengers rubbed one of his temples absently with a fingertip. Given enough raw materials and time, he could construct any physical device imaginable, and he had often done so despite a short supply of both. He felt he should be able to just as easily form a plan for working with the Avengers, given the raw data and time he now had. But building an abstract idea proved maddeningly frustrating when compared to building a solar-powered communications array.

Then again, he had always known that, hadn’t he? He had tried fixing himself on more than one occasion. Rebuilding his right leg and his right hand had been a walk in the park. Repairing the damage to his soul was something he still worked at to this day. And the Avengers’ current problems were metaphysical, not physical. He could have bashed together a new mode of transportation or an arsenal of weapons if the Avengers required it, in less time than it would take their butler Jarvis to put on tea. Unfortunately, nothing was that simple, and so Forge spent hours going over all of the available information, waiting for something to click.

At first, he had been fueled by anger. The Avengers had failed to do anything to prevent the slaughter of his own team, Freedom Force. While his blood boiled like a true Cheyenne warrior, his intellect prevailed and he focused the rage into a relentless dedication to research. He wanted to find more incriminating evidence against the Avengers, to find more crimes to reveal to the light of day - to show the world that the Avengers were nothing but a sham.

Instead, he had found dossiers on men and women who made their share of mistakes, to be certain, but were always dedicated to the common good. In time, the anger faded. The pain of losing Freedom Force stayed with him, but to give it any meaning, he would have to improve the Avengers, not destroy them. Some good had to come out of the tragedy which had led to his appointment as Avengers liaison. Forge would not rest until that came to pass.

Forge heard the sound of his office door being slowly pushed open. He did not look up from the sheaf of psychological evaluations centered on the desk before him. “Steve? That you?” He leaned forward to grab a folder. He had prepared notes and suggestions, and hoped Captain America had decided to take him up on his offer to put their heads together on the issue of the Avengers’ many problems.

Three quick thuds on the carpet were the only answer, heavy footfalls crossing the distance from door to desk. Forge looked up to see who had entered, and a pair of taloned fists crashed down on the far side of his desk, splitting the solid oak like so much balsa wood. Forge had just enough time to throw his hands forward in a defensive blocking move as an inhuman face lunged across the splintered desktop, razor sharp teeth bared and opening wide. The jaws snapped shut around Forge’s right hand and the head jerked back with tremendous speed. Forge screamed in pain as he fell backwards, his hand completely torn from his wrist.

Forge lay against the wall of the office, looking up at his enormous attacker. The gooseneck lamp had slid down the caved-in surface of the desk, and now shone upwards, illuminating a disturbing sight. A beast standing ten feet tall, covered in grayish-brown scales, with spiky plates running from the crest of its head down its back and along its powerful tail, loomed over Forge’s destroyed desk. Its yellow eyes were narrow and cruel, and its mouth held Forge’s cybernetic hand - fingers moving mechanically and without purpose - dangling from one side of the lizard-like maw, shredded wires dripping with blood poked out the other side. The creature spat Forge’s hand aside disdainfully, and a long, forked tongue of scarlet flicked between its teeth, while its clawed hands flexed with an undeniable urge to kill.

“Wha -- who --?” Forge managed dumbly.

“What I am issss death for you - and all the Avengerssss,” the creature hissed in a dry susurration of menace. “My Vormir name would be meaninglessssss to you, earthman. But you may call me … the STAR STALKER!”

TO BE CONTINUED…!!!