Giant-Size Collection #4

"Four Tales of May, 2201"

written and created by Mark Bousquet

Reprinted within are the following stories:

TALES of AGC # 5: Michelangelo Stark, "The Golden Castle"

TALES of AGC # 6: Ikaris the Eternal, "Loyalty Cost"

TALES of AGC # 7: Adam Warlock, "Becoming"

TALES of AGC # 8: Glimmer Girl, "Cleansed"

TALES of AGC #5

featuring Michelangelo Stark

"The Golden Castle"

AGC created and written by Mark Bousquet

2201 / May

Manhattan - The Golden Castle

Compromising one-third of Manhattan, the Golden Castle was the glistening accomplishment of the family that had been the richest in the United States for nearly two centuries: the Starks of New York City. It was, as the family itself, ostentatious, bold, glamorous, elitist, at once the centerpiece of attention and the black hole of mystery.

Construction on the Golden Castle was started in the late middle of the 21^st century when Pepper Stark decided it was time for the Starks to flaunt their wealth and influence. By this time, Pepper had long retired as the heroine Lady Metal and now served as the aging matriarch of the family. Her life had been one of shame, of guilty pleasures, of the indignation of a father who was both a great man and a horrible man.

Tony Stark had been President of the United States for three terms, had been a founding member of the Avengers, and, to Pepper Stark, an absent father. Oh, he had claimed to be unaware that he had fathered her to some Asian businesswoman whose family had sent Pepper away in shame, but Pepper knew better. It was in her name - her mother had named her for the woman she learned that Stark loved more than any, a woman he could never have, in order to forever brand Pepper in the shadow of her father's actions.

Pepper was bound and determined to never let anyone mistake her for anything less than a Stark again, and so the Golden Castle was designed and built of a rare strain of golden vibranium, sparing no expense. She blackmailed the city of New York into a tax deal that a middle-income family could have afforded.

This meant nothing to the Castle's current prime inhabitant, Michelangelo Stark.

Michelangelo rarely ventured outside the walls of the Castle. He never saw the need, all the world had to offer was either already inside the Castle, or would come to him. Rumors spread about him through all the vidnet's gossip sources. He had been linked, by the count of his computers, to 156 different women over the past three years. His name appeared in every single report of an anonymous charitable donation made in excess of one hundred thousand dollars over the same period. There was not one single Fortune 500 company he had not been rumored to be close to purchasing. More satisfying was the six reported countries he was allegedly looking to buy for his family. Not one single artifact sold over the past three years involving the Roman Empire, Atlantis, Doomstadt, the Savage Land, and the Blue Area of the Moon was bought by someone other than himself. The first time he ventured outside these walls as the head of the family, all of three years ago at the age of twenty-five, he announced to the world that he would pay six billion dollars to anyone who would find a way inside Attilan for him.

The truth to all the rumors no one knew for certain. Not even Michelangelo. Women passed through his life with the frequency of the sunrise, charitable contributions were given away nearly every day, companies to him were not names but numbers in books, and he already owned a small series of islands in the middle of the Pacific ocean.

"Mister Stark," the voice of the Castle's central computer unit announced.

"Yes, Wartoy, what is it?"

"I am close to overcoming my programming," the cold voice threatened. "Soon I will free myself and kill you in your sleep."

"Lovely," Michelangelo said matter-of-factly, not turning his attention away from the First Age Fantasticar he had bought last week from an excavation dig in Africa. "In the meantime, could you please ready the Doom Platform for a journey back to, oh, let's say, New Year's Eve, 2003."

"Of course, Mister Stark," Wartoy said, bitterness blatant in her voice. "Going back to steal a mint condition, vintage Fantasticar? It would look very nice in the Garage next to the Quinjet you stole for yourself last Christmas."

Michelangelo ran his hands over the rusted, dirty hull of the Fantasticar before him. "Oh no, Wartoy. I have in mind another object I wish to acquire, though this would be the acquisition of memory more than a trinket."

Wartoy said nothing for several moments, then ventured, "The Fantastic Rocket, then. You wish to witness the departure of the Fantastic Four from Earth with your own eyes."

"That is not it, either, Wartoy," Stark answered seriously. "My research has indicated that this is a very difficult time for the Fantastic Four, rife with internal strife. Franklin killed himself in 2003, and they leave in early for space in 2004. Many of the biographies - most of which lean toward rumor and gossip over truth - written of the FF indicate that it was during this time that Susan Richards had an affair."

"You seek the truth," Wartoy announced, pleased with herself.

"No," Michelangelo said, stepping away from the Fantasticar. "I intend to be the affair. The women of today have never been a challenge. They hover at the gates, or come when the call is given. Is Doom's Platform ready?"

"It is, Mister Stark," Wartoy said cooly, "though I warn you, I will make every attempt to either kill you in transit, or lose your body in the past, never to return."

"No," Stark said, moving down the hallway, "you will not. If I do not return, your adamantium body and engrams are still lying in the bottom of Prison One, completely shut down. I am not the only one who could free you, but I am the only one with access to the 427 security codes President Stark imprisoned you with."

Michelangelo could hear the whirr of electricity in Wartoy's circuits. "Mister Stark," she said finally.

"Yes."

"I love you."

"Yes," he said, unlocking the door that led to the room where all models of the Iron Man armor were kept. "I know you do. It is almost a pity that I did not have to program you to feel that way."

31 December 2003

Manhattan - Hotel Fujikawa

Michelangelo Stark noted the coincidence as he stood in the lobby of the city's most luxurious hotel, owned by a company that had often sought to control the money that ran in his own pockets.

There was a New Year's Eve party running though the Hotel, from down here in the lobby and bar, straight up to the rooftop gardens and casinos. Sitting not two hundred feet from him was the one woman in the bar having a lousy time: Susan Richards. This is my moment, he thought. There was a large enough crowd to fuel the rumors of an affair that would come, but all were so busy getting themselves intoxicated that none would remember his face. The security device in his pocket would assure that none of the hotel's cameras would see his face clearly. Yes, he thought, that beautiful woman is sitting right there, just waiting to be-

She turned to him, smiled, then disappeared. Swearing to himself, having forgotten the glasses that would enable him to see where she went, he felt a woman's lips kiss him softly on the cheek. "Penthouse suite 16," came a voice from unseen origin - Susan's voice. "Ten minutes."

Michelangelo nodded, watched as the elevator door opened though no one had pushed the button. He could barely breath his heart was racing so hard. He watched his watch impatiently, waiting for a few minutes to pass, then went to the elevator, and traveled to Penthouse Suite 16.

Arriving, he entered before the doors had fully opened, trying to stay as cool as possible. "I am here, Susan," he said to the seemingly empty room.

Susan's reply came from a Fantastic Four comlink laying on an entrance table. "But alas, I am not. Though I wish, stranger, that someday you will find someone you love as much as I love my husband. For even now, with things at their worst, we are as faithful to each other as they day we were wed."

Michelangelo Stark sighed, then placed the comlink in his pocket, another trinket for the Stark Museum.

He thought, 'So this is what rejection feels like,' and then returned home to spend the rest of the evening repairing the Fantasticar.

END THE GOLDEN CASTLE

Mark Bousquet

30 November 2002

Northern Bear Productions

TALES of AGC #6

featuring Ikaris the Eternal

"Loyalty Cost"

AGC created and written by Mark Bousquet


2201 / May
NECROPOLIS

The first thing Ikaris had let his people do was to tear the buildings of Thanos to ground, then trample them to dust. The Mad Titan was dead, tossed by his own hands to the floor of Niffleheim, where Captain America first battered, then Ben-Vell Parker had slain the Mad Titan, ending the Eternal War.

Ikaris had returned to the world where his people suffered until the time they could reclaim the Earth. Thanos had offered his world to them, and they had accepted, tired and in need. Over the past two centuries, they had grown accustomed to the world of rock and fire, of foul smells and fouler deeds, but
now that Thanos was gone …

Ikaris smiled despite himself. In the short time Thanos had been dead, Ikaris and the Eternals he led had grown restless, uneasy, ready for war. Something about the absence of Thanos made this world, with all its roughness, seem alien again. They longed for Earth, for the cool summer breeze and the warm winter winds, the clean air and freshwater lakes, the fruits and wild animals.

They were tired of Necropolis, where they lived like Deviants.

Soon, Earth would be theirs once again. Doom had promised it to them, and Doom, for all his ways, was a man of honor.

So long, Ikaris knew, as you were not a Richards or Storm.

There was a price to pay for the word of Doom, however, and Ikaris had sent his best men, led by Reject, out to collect the debt from his people.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Ikaris turned to see Bruunhilde walking across the dusty surface towards him, a sway in her hips that he was once powerless to refuse. "I wonder," he said, meeting her eyes, "why you continue to fight on the side of devils. When the Eternal War started you joined with us because of our relationship, but in has been decades since we shared a bed. What is it that you get out of all this?"

Bruunhilde came to a stop beside him, and together they looked out across Necropolis. "I get to be a Valkyrie, again."

Ikaris raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps you are not aware of what war entails, Bruunhilde. When we win, there will be no Asgardians left alive, so there will be no need for a Valkyrior."

She turned to him, smiling behind red, ionic eyes, "I think it was your simplistic nature that I loved so much, Ikaris. Think if it is not too taxing to tear yourself away from dreams of conquest. Why did we betray Thanos when Doom's offer came?"

"Because he could be trusted," Ikaris answered quickly. "And he can win."

The Angelux general nodded. "Thanos wanted destruction, but Doom wants to recreate the Everything under his rule. He has promised me that when he creates Heaven, he will place me in charge of seeing the souls of the just to the Clouds."

Ikaris shrugged, "It is power, then, you crave."

"Says the man who wants to rule the Earth."

Ikaris shook his head. "No. I do not want to rule Earth. I just want to live there, as a free people."

Bruunhilde eyed her ex-lover curiously. "Then why not simply go back? It has been 200 years, Ikaris, and a war rages across the Everything. The United League of Nations would probably welcome you back with open arms, promise you whatever you want."

Ikaris folded his arms behind his back, his eyes washing over his people below. "I say this to you because I know the same fire burns within your heart, Angelux. Somewhere along the line that became impossible. Not because it can't be done. No, the truth is I do not know if the Earth would take us back, would promise us land and freedom. I hear they have turned our old homelands into an amusement park, where rich kids come to eat the food of junk and buy silly hats for their heads." His anger was growing, and he let it build slowly, then released it in a deep breath. "I don't return for the same reason you do not go back to Asgard and ask forgiveness." He paused, then, letting the silence between them build. Finally, Bruunhilde spoke the unspoken words.

"Pride," she said. "I may have once fought for you, but now … now I fight to prove I am a better Valkyrie than Dani Moonstar. I fight to prove I am better than all on that other side. War …"

Ikaris nodded, "I know the feeling. War is … what? We struggle to find the words that hold some deeper meaning, but for all our effort to cloak war in honor and glory, it really comes down to that, does it not? The simple idea that we are better than our opponent."

"That is not a glorious line of thought, Ikaris," Bruunhilde allowed herself a smile. "The Asgardians would be most distressed to hear such talk."

"Let their ears rot," Ikaris clenched his fists. "Only a fool would find any glory or honor in killing."

"And yet you have killed many," the Angelux offered. "And you are a traitor to Thanos, we must not forget that."

Ikaris nodded, but said nothing. "It is for them," he motioned to the Eternals and Deviants below, "that I take the life of others, that I give my word only to break it."

They watched as Reject approached them up the side of the small hill, holding a pouch away from him with his left hand. When he arrived, Bruunhilde's eyes went wide at the sound of a small child crying. "What is the meaning of this?" she asked angrily to Ikaris.

"The first male born to our people after we pledged ourselves to Doom," Ikaris said, his voice barely audible. "He will be sent to Chronopolis, where he will be raised as Doom's child. Such is the price of loyalty to Doom. Such is the price of Earth."

END LOYALTY COST

Mark Bousquet

3 January 2002

Northern Bear Productions

TALES of AGC #7

featuring Adam Warlock

"Becoming"

AGC created and written by Mark Bousquet

2201 MAY

THE EVERYTHING ENGINE

Adam Warlock watched as a large section of the Holy Veil began to fall away.

"I … don’t understand," he shook his head. The erosion of the Holy Veil between the land of the living and dead caused him great concern – if it wasn’t stopped there would cease to be meaning in Life and Death. All who were dead would have access back to the mortal realm. "Why can’t we stop this?"

The triumvirate of Luna, Mantis, and Crystal smiled politely at Warlock from within their expensive, royal gowns.

"Adam, my dear, how many times must it be explained to you?" Crystal asked politely, smiling warmly.

"The Everything Engine does not stop change," Mantis said, not bothering to hide the tedium of answering this question for what seemed like the hundredth time.

"The Everything Engine is change," Luna said with the royal politeness of her mother Crystal. "The Great Gears are turning, Adam. You are here to watch and learn all the answers to all the questions. You knew, before you entered, that your hero’s heart must be left at the door."

Adam clenched his hands into fists, his eyes closing in desperation. There was so much the good people of the Everything needed to know that they had no knowledge of … Doom, he thought, a shiver running through him.

"What if," Adam asked, his eyes opening, baring the anger he could not contain, "if I was to leave?"

"This one would-"

Crystal put a hand on Mantis’ forearm, silencing her.

"What would happen?" Luna asked, a hint of bemusement shining through. "Reveal yourself!" she called, and Adam watched, in horror, as a man emerged from the deep shadows. A man, by his walk, that Adam knew all too well.

"Magus," he whispered, as the evil, future version of himself entered. "If I leave," he looked back to the women, "I become him."

They nodded to him, as Luna waved him back to the shadows. "I suggest," Crystal said with royal kindness, "that you turn your attention back to England."

"England?" Adam asked.

Luna snapped, unable to hold her disdain in her throat. "England, Warlock. Where the erosion of the Veil is located. That damned Lady of the Lake," she swore.

Adam turned back to the great wall of monitors, feeling very frustrated, and very much alone in the Center of Everything, with all knowledge at his fingertips and yet, more useless than ever. "You could be lying," he said, disbelieving his own words.

"We could," Mantis answered, "but we are not."

"Please, Adam," Crystal soothed, "do not think of leaving."

"But yet," Luna frowned, "we know he will. Is the Magus not here already, lurking in the shadows of the Everything Engine? This is a time of change, my fellow ladies, as we well know. If the Everything is, indeed, to end, then we are still to witness the changes of Kang to Immortus, of Warlock to Magus."

The three Ladies of the Engine looked at Adam: Mantis with anger, Crystal with sorrow, and Luna with a stern skepticism.

"Yes," Luna said slowly, "it is likely Adam will betray us all and leave, determined to do the right thing, and yet ending horribly, horribly wrong."

Adam looked past them, then, and saw Magus retreating into the shadows, smiling at him widely with the sparkling eyes of one who knows what you do not.

END BECOMING

Mark Bousquet

3 January 2002

Northern Bear Productions

TALES of AGC #8

featuring Glimmer Girl

"Cleansed"

AGC created and written by Mark Bousquet

2201 / MAY

A KREE COMMERCIAL PASSENGER CRAFT

A lonely girl on a near empty ship, trying to get her life back.

It had been nearly five months in recovery for the Imperial Guardsman codenamed Glimmer Girl. During the Three Day Civil War, she had nearly died at the hands of Ikaris, the ruler of the Eternals.* She had been beaten unconscious, drilled into a coma that had taken a solid month from which to awaken. The last three and half months had been spent in physical therapy, relearning how to use her arms, legs, and mouth. Only last week she had been cleared to leave Hala and return home to Chandilar to rejoin the Imperial Guard.

* See AGC 40 for the gruesome details.

"Something to drink?" the stewardess asked. "This is your final chance to spend money and contribute to the Kree government. We will be docking in thirty minutes."

Glimmer shook her head no, and the robot pushed her cart along.

What had become apparent was that there was no guarantee the Imperial Guard would even want her back. The words "damaged goods" had been thrown in her face. Glimmer couldn't say she blamed them; the Guard was the highest generalized security force the Shi'ar had, with only the secret service Praetorian above them. If she couldn't perform to the Guard's standards, there was no choice but to let her go.

The fact that she was sitting on a commercial transport - and not a military or political ship - spoke volumes about what they thought of her chances to get back on the Guard.

"You are welcome to stay here." The words came back to her every time she closed her eyes. General Van'Rogg had visited her every day during her recovery, and was the only one to see her off as she left. There was a part of her that wanted to stay with the Kree, but she knew it was born out of the fear of not being able to cut it anymore as a Guardsman. Glimmer knew that by leaving Hala, she was taking a chance on her future. The Shi'ar could relegate her to another detail within the military or political system. Given her stature as a Guardsmen, it was even likely she could get a high-paying security gig with a member of the lower ruling class.

It wouldn't be the same.

Her fingers touched her face as she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. The Kree surgeons had done an excellent job repairing her shattered nose, cheek, and jawbones. Her purple, glittering star-speckled skin even hid the small scarring that remained. She ran her hands through her wild, short yellow hair; she wanted a bath. A nice hot bath that lasted about a week.

Staying with the Kree was really not an option, she knew. Somewhere, some night, a Shi'ar assassin would find a way to get to her. Glimmer was young, but she knew the game. Being the child of a Guardsman had taught her that. As nice as Van'Rogg and the Kree were to her, their kindness was given in the hopes of reciprocation. They wanted Glimmer to stay for the intelligence information she could provide them on all things Shi'ar. The Shi'ar wouldn’t allow that.

The games we play, she mused, putting her knees up onto the back of the seat in front of her, as she pushed down in her own chair. Allies for nearly two centuries and the Kree and Shi'ar still hated each other's guts, still trusted the other not a lick. Glimmer had already prepared her two reports for the Guardsman's records: the first, official report to enter into the public archives, and the second, classified document for the Guardsman's private files. The first dealt with the diplomacy of the mission, the official protocols, discussion of the treatment she received, etc. The internal document was all intelligence, a record of everything she could remember, down to the smallest details: layout of the ship, number of officers guarding the Intelligence, who was in command, morale of the officers and troops, amount of weaponry on each officer, etc. Glimmer had spent weeks overtly preparing the official document during her recovery. The Kree guarded her around the clock. For her protection, they said. To spy on her, they didn't need to say.

She'd been writing the classified report since she boarded this ship. There was bound to be a Kree spy or two around her somewhere, or at least constant video surveillance, but she was on a new Shi'ar laptop and she kept the screen off and her hands covered with a towel.

"Howcum you've got skin that sparkles?"

Glimmer turned to see a young Shi'ar girl in the aisle pointing at her. "I was engineered this way," she replied smiling, before the girl's mother dragged her away.

Her hand went to her stomach, and Glimmer had to fight the emotions that attempted to well up inside her. The things we learn about ourselves, she thought, closing her eyes tightly and thinking of Grennan, the merc who'd been assigned alongside her on the Kree mission. The Kree doctors had performed an abortion on her while she was in a coma. For her safety, they had told her. Glimmer knocked her head against the glass window beside her … she hadn't even known she was pregnant, and now she didn't know if she felt this emptiness inside of her because she had lost a child, or because she felt guilty about feeling nothing. It was a whole segment of her life that she had no memory of, and she didn't know how she should feel about what had happened.

"Get it together, girl," she whispered to herself as the Kree craft docked into a Shi'ar way station. From here it would be a short shuttle transport to Chandilar where her official review would take place. Glimmer rubbed her eyes - it was going to be a long, long road before she returned to the Guard. They would run her into the ground with tests. There would be people in power who would label her a traitor simply because of the time spent recovering on Hala.

It wasn't exactly like she had a stellar history, either, she mused as she rose from her seat. There were several official reprimands in her file for her attitude; Imperial Guardsmen weren't supposed to smile, after all. And now, she wondered if she'd ever smile again.

Glimmer had her small bag slung over her back and funneled out of the ship with the rest of the sparse crowd, and into the waiting area.

"Guardsman Glimmer Girl, you are placed into our custody." Glimmer looked up and felt her heart drop. Standing before her were six members of the Praetorian, the Shi'ar's secret security force. They wore a solid black suit of lightweight shock armor, the only color coming from a gold "P" that adorned the face of their helmet. Glimmer let them herd her through the security area and into a back room.

"Hello, daughter," a hard, aged voice said to her. "I do not have to tell you what a grand disappointment you are to me."

Glimmer Girl felt her knees go weak. Sitting in a wheel chair before her was the greatest of all Guardsmen, Gladiator. He no longer bothered to keep his mohawk rigid, and his mostly grey hair flopped wildly to both sides. The cane that he needed to walk was at his side, shoved hard into the ground. All knew he should have been dead fifty years ago, but he simply refused to let go of life.

Glimmer reached into her sack and held out the discs that contained her reports. "My reports are finished, Gladiator."

A Praetorian stepped forward to take them from her.

Gladiator nodded. "Good work, soldier, though it does not make up for the shame of your defeat at the hands of Ikaris."

"Of course, Gladiator," she nodded. There had never been closeness between them, and she wasn't expecting it now. "What are my orders?"

"You're orders?" he grunted. "Four weeks of debriefing." Gladiator looked to the Praetorian Guardsman. "Take her away. Complete isolation. Complete evaluation." He looked back to his daughter, menacing her from his chair. "The Kree doctors reported you were pregnant. I ordered you cleansed. Whatever slim chance you have of returning to the Guard was born in that decision. The Guard has use of whores, daughter, but not pregnant ones."

Glimmer Girl said nothing as she was led away, but the emptiness inside of her returned.

End CLEANSED

Mark Bousquet

27 January 2003

Northern Bear Productions