LJ takes her
personal canon seriously; I've always known that. I didn't realise how seriously, though, until last weekend.
Gaming had been put off for a little while at LJ's request. "I need some more time to get it just right," she explained. My offers to help were refused because the kidlet didn't want me to have any spoilers. "I know exactly what I want to do," she said, "it's just that I want to have everything exactly the way I want it before you see it. Down to the very dialogue."
I'm pleased to report her efforts were well worth it. LJ has truly outdone herself in terms of pre-planning, sub-plots and (yes) dialogue. The past four games weave into one awesome tapestry, and this installment features (for my money) the single best hero/villain conflict she's ever devised (hint: it's the one involving Iron Man). So sit back, relax and
enjoy the magic as it unfolds.
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Last Christmas he was questioned, criticised and threatened with a nasty newspaper editorial. This Christmas, the Mayor of Super Hero City wasn’t leaving anything to chance. His beloved town had spent 12 full months happy, healthy and mercifully safe from utter annihilation - and the best way to mark that triumph was with a Christmas tree! And so the Mayor invited all of his loyal voters… sorry, loyal residents… to attend the ceremonial tree lighting. And the honour of throwing the “on” switch had fallen to the hi-tech fibre-optic tree’s inventor - the one and only Tony Stark!
Pepper Potts watched as the billionaire genius waxed lyrical about his latest innovation (so did a very disgruntled J Jonah Jameson, who mentally tore up his pre-written editorial). She sighed heavily; Tony was, as usual, laying it on very thick and taking too much time. They had bigger things to worry about - like the Infinity Sword, which had been locked up in Stark Tower’s ultra-secure laboratory since it
had been recovered. Showing unusual foresight, Tony had hired extra muscle to guard the dangerous artefact. Showing his usual irresponsibility, Tony’s choice of extra muscle had been somewhat less than ideal.
“Wow,” Deadpool sighed as he watched the monitors inside Stark Tower. “Look at that pretty, pretty tree. It’s almost as pretty as Carly Rae Jepsen!”
Jim Rhodes, aka War Machine, ground his teeth and resisted the temptation to hurl Deadpool through a wall. He’d been stationed with the mouthy merc for several hours and had come to one conclusion: the lab was too small to escape his annoying ways. “I can’t believe Tony hired this jerk,” he muttered under his breath. “Sure, the Infinity Sword is dangerous and Enchantress will obviously send her goons after it. But this creep’s not gonna be any use defending it when things go down.”
Deadpool was singing “Call Me Maybe” off-key and at the top of his lungs. Wincing inside his helmet, War Machine took careful aim with his repulsors…
“I can’t believe that took so long,” Petter fumed as she and Tony passed through Stark Tower’s security features. “And I can’t believe you left poor Rhodey alone with Deadpool for so long! He’s your best friend, Tony - that’s just cruel.”
“Relax, Pepper, relax,” Tony waved off her concern. “Rhodey’s a highly-decorated combat veteran with nerves of steel and an indestructible suit of iron. He’s far too cool to let Deadpool get under his skin.”
They ducked as Deadpool sailed over their heads trailing repulsor radiation. “Wendy,” he bellowed happily, “I can fly!” The merc landed with a thud.
War Machine emerged from the lab, gauntlets still sparking. “He’s got a healing factor,” he raged to no one in particular, “so it’s totally okay if I blow his mouth off - it’ll just grow back!”
Pepper glared at Tony, who put his face in his hands and moaned.
Peace eventually returned to the lab because, as Deadpool put it, “mom and dad are home”. Clad once again in his famed red-and-gold armour, Tony Stark - aka the Invincible Iron Man - resumed his tests on the Infinity Sword. Pepper, meanwhile, had wrapped herself in the sleek battle suit known as Rescue. The lab was nearly silent (only nearly because, well, Deadpool) when the main view-screen crackled into static-corrupted life. It seemed to be a transmission from Ms Marvel… something about “disturbance in space” and “cosmic storms”… but, try as he might, Iron Man could not lock the signal down.
The connection was lost and, an instant later, the power went out. All of it.
“But that’s impossible,” Iron Man said. “All the tower’s energy comes from the Arc Reactor. That’s a perpetual energy source - it can’t go out!”
“Which means someone’s cut the wires,” War Machine said.
“Which means someone’s snuck into the tower,” Rescue added.
“Which means… treasure hunt!” Deadpool clapped.
War Machine moved to sock him one, but Iron Man stepped in the way. “Guys, this is no time to fight amongst ourselves,” he snapped. “If someone’s broken into the tower, it’s pretty obviously one of the villains and we know what they’ll be after.” He looked meaningfully at the Infinity Sword. “We need a counter-strategy.”
“We split up,” War Machine, ever the tactician, suggested. “One point of the compass each, constant radio contact, call out if we find anything.”
“I can do constant contact,” Deadpool nodded. “That’s my best attribute when it comes to teaming up! High five, anyone?”
“Deadpool,” Iron Man said, taking the merc by the shoulders, “I’ve a special deal for you. If you can go on this search and do it without talking, I’ll give you an extra $8000 on top of your already agreed-upon fee. How’s that sound?”
The white eye-slits of Deadpool’s mask widened. He pantomimed pulling a zip across his mouth, locking it with a key and throwing the key at War Machine (who snarled). Then he clasped his hands in front of his chest and tried to look innocent. He failed miserably, of course, but Iron Man understood and appreciated the effort.
“All right,” the Armoured Avenger said. “Let’s go. Be careful, everyone.” He went north, Rescue went south, Deadpool went east and War Machine went west (after almost going east, then remembering the merc had headed in that direction). The search was on.
Rescue descended into the bowels of Stark Tower, heading into the building’s very foundations. The beam from her armour’s chest-light played over pipes and grates; she was not far above the sewers. As her nose prickled from the thought, something large and blobby and foul-smelling erupted from out the floor - Clayface was on the attack! Rescue bombarded her opponent with repulsor blasts and magnetic bubbles, but the shape-shifting villain laughed them off. “Get real, lady,” he sneered. “There ain’t nothing you’ve got onboard that can hurt me!”
Clayface transformed his left arm into a massive hammer and swung it toward Rescue. The heroine protected herself with a magnetic shield but the force of the impact knocked her backwards nonetheless. She crashed painfully into a sluice grate and, suddenly, had an idea. Re-directing her magnetic emitters downwards, she caused an electric shock that ran the length of the corridor and right up Clayface’s pudgy legs! The villain howled in pain and leaped at her, pushing them both through the grate and into the darkness.
Seconds passed… and Rescue emerged, wiping her brow. She breathed a loud sigh of relief and headed back toward the lab.
In the tower’s eastern quadrant, Deadpool fought a losing battle with mind-numbing boredom. This was worse than having no one to talk to (because he could have talked to Iron Man and Rescue… and tweaked War Machine a little more… through the communicator). Having people to talk to but having to stay quiet for the sake of a big pay-day was torturous! Deadpool consoled himself by coming up with ways to spend the extra $8000. Currently, his favourite idea was buying $8000 worth of teeny-tiny microphones, hiding them throughout War Machine’s quarters and playing “Gangnam Style” on non-stop loop.
Lost in his reverie of revenge, Deadpool was caught off-guard by a sneak attack. What he’d thought to be an innocent cooling pipe was actually one of Doctor Octopus’ metallic arms! The evil genius cackled as he snatched Deadpool by the feet and battered him against the walls, floor and ceiling. “My my, this is amusing,” he said drolly. “I didn’t believe the others when they said hitting someone with a healing factor was a pleasant way to spend an afternoon. How wrong I was!”
A thousand comebacks flashed through Deadpool’s mind; his lust for cash was stronger, though, so he said nothing. Instead he drew his twin swords (internally bemoaning the Avengers’
machine-gun ban) and tried to retaliate. He wasn’t very successful. Ock easily parried his strikes and knocked him near-senseless, chortling all the while. “You are a hand-me-down Spider-Man, aren’t you?” he sneered. “Not only do you have the costume wrong, cretin, but you’ve also armed yourself incorrectly and failed to copy the arachnid’s annoying patter.” His eyes gleamed behind his dark goggles. “No matter. Soon you will be dead and your tombstone will read ‘here lies a poor-man’s Spider-Man’.”
Deep inside Deadpool’s insane brain, a glowing neon sign reading ‘lust for cash’ was utterly demolished by a bright yellow bulldozer tattooed with the word ‘ego’. The impact sent a shudder through the merc’s nerve endings… a shudder that raced from his brain directly to his jaw muscles, causing him to scream:
“I AM A THOUSAND TIMES COOLER THAN SPIDER-MAN!”
In a dervish of wounded pride and slicing swords, Deadpool set upon his shocked and, suddenly, terrified opponent. “You wanna compare me to the web-head, you big tub of lard? Lots of luck,” he babbled. “The only reason you got your licks in, Fat Controller, is because there was a malfunction in my junction and Thomas the Butt-kicking Engine was late at the station! I was so keen for cold, hard cash that I forgot my real power isn’t a healing factor, or teleportation, or any of my way-cool weapons… it’s talking! Glorious, endless babble! It’s the source of all my power, Mr Champion Bowl Cut of 1963. And when my mouth is moving, ain’t nobody safe!”
There was no answer. Deadpool looked down to see the unconscious, severely-beaten remains of Doctor Octopus at his feet. Glancing around furtively, thankful no one had heard his rant, Deadpool re-zipped his mouth and started dragging Ock to the lab by his tentacles. If he was lucky, he’d still get his $8000. If not, at least he’d gotten to beat-down on a real jerk-face.
Meanwhile, War Machine was making his way through the tower’s western section. It was the home of Stark Industries’ super-computer arrays. “The brains of the operation,” Rhodey grinned, “besides Tony, anyway.” Though he admired the work they performed, War Machine was the last person to understand computers. He was a man of action and, while that required plenty of thought, it wasn’t the sort of consideration that unlocked the mysteries of science.
“You ponder me in your mind,” said a voice suddenly, its owner unseen. War Machine whirled around, but there was nothing for his weapon systems to lock on to. “I grow stronger with time and weaker all the while,” it continued. “I drive you crazy in your mind that’s hazy, I’m a magnet to thought and a shade to your eyes. Now: what am I?”
War Machine scowled. “If you’re Deadpool, I’m turning you into meat-sauce.”
“Silly, dull-witted man,” the voice chuckled. From out the shadows, between a pair of super-computers, stepped The Riddler. “I’m a riddle. One that will be the death of you, Mr Rhodes.”
War Machine took aim and fired off a barrage of non-lethal armaments - sleeping gas canisters, taser bullets and the like. To his amazement, each and every weapon bounced off a spot two feet in front of the Riddler’s face and crashed into super-computers. The taser bullets ricocheted into the floor by Rhodey’s feet and knocked him off-balance, causing him to fall backwards and drive his left arm through a computer array. He tried unsuccessfully to pull it out.
“Stuck? Grand,” the Riddler smiled. He tapped his purple belt buckle. “This contextual resonance field is a wonderful toy, don’t you think? One of the other villains whipped it up for me -
I’m rich, in case you’ve not heard, so I can afford all the good accessories. You just relax, hero, while I go reclaim the Infinity Sword.”
His weapons off-line and his armour trapped, War Machine thought tactically. He might not be able to make much use of computers, but his armour’s internal systems could! He interfaced his on-board software with that of the super-computers, using them to take control of a nearby robot arm. Because it wasn’t a weapon, it passed easily through Riddler’s shield… and before the villain could react, it pantsed him! With no belt and no force field (also, no pants), Gotham’s puzzler was no match for a steel arm with attitude. War Machine tried not to take too much glee in punching Riddler out by remote-control.
In the uppermost reaches of Stark Tower, the invincible Iron Man prowled his darkened penthouse. He was supposed to feel at home in this, his most private of sanctums. Instead, the Armoured Avenger felt very ill-at-ease. Something was very wrong in his home… it felt more like a haunted house.
Alarms blared inside his helmet and he turned, drew bead and fired a repulsor blast. One of his favourite vases shattered musically. Another alarm sounded and he fired again, this time destroying a painting. Iron Man was more terrified than annoyed, though, because his prized possessions were floating through the air!
His genius intellect reasserted itself. “Come on out, Gentleman Ghost,” he called. “I know it’s you.”
The far wall rippled as Jim Craddock appeared, astride his ghastly spectral horse. The villain clapped mockingly. “Well done, Mister Stark,” he quipped snidely. “You’re no Batman, but your detection skills have not been completely wiped away by parties just yet.” A white-gloved hand adjusted a ghostly monocle. “I’m here to kill you, obviously,” he said conversationally. “Taking the Infinity Sword for the Enchantress is just a bonus really. We’ve a score to settle, you and I.”
“Do we now?” Iron Man asked, trying to sound casual. He well remembered
their last encounter but had been led to believe, by Dr Strange, the villain would have no recollection of it.
“Come now, Mister Stark, let’s not play games,” Ghost sniffed as he swung down from his ghoulish mount. He slapped the horse on the side and it trotted out through the wall. “I’ll admit my memory of our last donnybrook is somewhat hazy, but I do know you foiled… whatever my plan was. I’m here to redress that slight by ending your life.” The monocle flashed a sickly, ugly purple. “And then haunting your afterlife.”
Iron Man fired, but repulsors had no effect on evil spirits. Gentleman Ghost swept over and through him, tearing off one of his gauntlets. Iron Man cried out in pain; Ghost repeated his attack and pulled free more of his armour. Fighting through his agony, Iron Man staggered through the door of his penthouse and struggled toward his private workshop. Ghost continued to phase through him and tear away his technology, sniggering all the while. “I could kill you in a second, Mister Stark,” he hissed, “but I’m determined to enjoy this. I’ve studied you since our last encounter, Mister Stark, so I know just how to defeat you!”
Gentleman Ghost broke off the last few pieces of Iron Man’s armour. Tony Stark kicked his ruined rocket-boots free and ran into the workshop as fast as he could. Craddock floated after him at a leisurely pace, supremely confident. Thus it was that he entered a darkened room, unable to find his prey. “Come out, come out, wherever you are, Mister Stark,” he sneered. “You can’t possibly believe you have a means of beating me, can you?”
“Of course I do,” Stark replied. Ghost looked up and saw the billionaire standing atop a stack of metallic mesh, not unlike the kind found on screen doors. “You see, Mister Craddock, I’ve been studying too.”
Stark kicked at the stack and leaped off to safety. Craddock watched it smugly… then howled in anguish as the mesh cut through him! His pain continued as sheet after sheet of mash sliced his spectral form into smaller and smaller dubes.
“You didn’t think I’d look for a way to make sure you couldn’t possess my armour again?” Stark yelled. “You didn’t think I’d look into installing Nth metal mesh into all of my devices, my inventions, my buildings? You didn’t think I’d make sure I was never helpless against you again? You may be powerful, Craddock, but you’re not too bright.”
Ghost’s diced remains jittered and roiled on the floor, beneath the mesh. “You were… never in danger,” they groaned. “Just… weathering my attacks… until you… could do… this to me…”
Stark smiled. “Well, whaddya know - you can teach an old ghost new tricks.”
A few minutes later, Stark returned to the main laboratory. He deposited Gentleman Ghost’s still-grousing chunks alongside Doctor Octopus and Riddler, who’d already been dumped by Deadpool and War Machine. Only Rescue was still missing. Stark began to worry, but breathed a sigh of relief as his CEO and paramour walked through the lab’s reinforced entryway. “Looks like we’ve all had a busy evening,” Rescue said. “Clayface attacked me down in the sub-basement. I fought him off but he got away. Sorry, guys.”
“Don’t sweat it, pretty lady,” Deadpool said, certain he’d earned his $8000 bonus and was therefore free to talk again. “When confronted with opponents of your awesomeness, walking mud-piles tend to become running mud-piles!”
Pepper frowned slightly. “Uh, right. Anyway, guys, could you join me over at the Infinity Sword? All these attacks made me think of something.” The other heroes followed her lead… and found themselves enveloped in viscous mud! Before their horrified eyes, Pepper transformed into Clayface! The villain had defeated his opponent in the sub-basement, and then taken on her form to infiltrate the laboratory!
“Who’s a running mud-pile now, ya babblin’ fool?” Clayface growled as he swallowed up Deadpool and War Machine. He grasped Stark in one colossal hand and squeezed; the billionaire rapidly passed out.
Precious minutes had passed by the time Stark regained consciousness. Refusing to waste any more time, he ran over to a secret compartment and activated the latest upgrade of his armour. Mechanical arms began assembling the red-and-gold battle suit around him.
“Don’t be crazy, Tony,” War Machine warned. “That suit’s untested - it could be full of bugs and glitches, for all you know!”
“I’ve got to risk it,” Stark answered as he pulled on his Iron Man helmet. “Clayface is probably halfway to Villainville by now, and Enchantress can’t get the Infinity Sword. We may not know why she wants it, but we do know it won’t be for anything good.” He activated his boot jets and soared toward the window. “You and Deadpool find Pepper,” he called over his shoulder. “She’s got to be here somewhere!”
Deadpool headed straight for the sub-basement but there was no sign of Rescue. War Machine, meanwhile, played a hunch. He figured Clayface would want to have made things even more difficult for the heroes… to create a distraction to better aid his escape… and so flew to the tower’s ammunition depot. Sure enough, Pepper Potts was there - stuck, by thick mud, to a chair in the middle of the bullet and bomb stockpile. And to her left was something even more concerning: Gentleman Ghost’s angry, vengeful, fire-breathing phantom horse!
“Uh… good horsie?” War Machine winced.
Heedless of safety, the beast snorted a gout of flame directly at the hero. Rhodey dodged it with a yelp, realising too late the attack had set a stack of ammunition smouldering. Ignoring the horse, he flew over to Pepper, snatched her and the chair up in one gauntlet and crashed through the wall of the tower! The ammunition exploded and the resultant fireball vented through the gap War Machine had created. The ghost horse shot out with it and was sent hurtling into the distance.
“Some rescue, hey Rescue?” War Machine winked.
“Thanks,” Pepper gasped, relieved to be safe. “But where’s Tony?”
Miles away, Iron Man streaked over the Super Hero City wall at top speed. He knew he risked creating an international incident but there was no time to consult SHIELD - Clayface had to be stopped and the Infinity Sword recovered. He’d worry about the consequences later, when the world was safe.
As he touched down outside the villains’ flat-packed castle, a silvery-blue nimbus formed alongside him. The dazzling light coalesced into a humanoid shape, and then refined further to reveal Doctor Strange! “Iron Man, thank the Vishanti you’re here,” the Sorcerer Supreme breathed. “I’ve just
come from Atlantis where Thor, Aquaman and I learned…”
A sudden noise and a rush of intense heat caught their attention. The heroes’ heads snapped around to see Black Manta, MODOK and Clayface standing around what appeared to be Mr Freeze’s snap-freezing chamber. A moment’s glance told Iron Man the machine had been altered: it was somehow taking power from the objects in each villain’s hand and channelling it into the chamber’s occupant. He and Strange watched, mesmerised despite themselves, as energies flowed out of a small wooden wand… a bag of
dusky, moon-coloured liquid… and the Infinity Sword into the chamber’s receptacles.
“It’s not possible,” Strange shook his head. “I left Atlantis but an instant ago. Even if Amora had all her forces searching at the same time, they can’t possibly have been successful and beaten me back here…”
“The disturbance in space,” Iron Man moaned, thinking back to Ms Marvel’s message. “The cosmic storm! Enchantress must have arranged it to hide whatever she’s doing and to disrupt your magic! We’ve been played, Stephen - right from the very start!”
The chamber doors swung open to reveal Amora the Enchantress, her lithe body crackling with forbidden power. The energies cascading around her looked severe enough to turn her to dust, but the locket around her neck seemed to provide complete and utter protection. When Amora opened her eyes, her pupils shone with cosmic force and her voice, when she spoke, was thunder itself.
“Ultimate power,” she boomed, “and it’s all mine!”
“Uh oh,” Iron Man gasped.
-----TO BE CONTINUED!-----
Greet the Fire as Your Friend,
SF