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Secret Wars Ashes to Ashes
#1
By Bill Kirsche
I
Peter Parker looked somberly upon the night sky. Although it was a cloudless evening,
he could not discern a single star among the black field. Even the familiar moon was
absent tonight; not that the moon had any business shining here. He sighed and thought of
Mary Jane, a million light years away and probably worried sick that the odds had finally
caught up with him and his body was lying lifeless somewhere, bloody and broken. He wished
he could somehow let her know that he was alive and safe.
At least for the moment.
If only he hadn't seen it with his own eyes. . .
And yet it was still so hard to believe. An entire galaxy wiped out of existence with a
thought simply because it was in the way. A world built for the express purpose of hosting
a battle between super humans. It was like some curious experiment taking place at the ESU
animal behavior lab, only he was one of the guinea pigs.
Damn it, it wasn't fair!
He brought his fist down hard, and it bent the metal bar he was leaning against into a
U-shape. It spoiled the symmetry of the railing which surrounded this particular balcony.
He forced it back into a straight line.
"That's right, you wouldn't want to upset the landlord."
Peter started and instinctively spun around into a defensive crouch. At the same time he
saw the familiar red costume, he mentally reminded himself that his spider-sense hadn't
gone off and therefore he was in no danger. He relaxed.
"My, aren't we jumpy."
"Sorry, Matt," he said sheepishly, "I'm just not used to people sneaking up
on me. Plus, this whole situation has me on edge."
"Tell me about it," Daredevil stood next to him, leaning back against the newly
repaired rail, "It's not everyday you get kidnapped by an omnipotent being and forced
to do battle on his version of a chess board with the most powerful bad guys in the
business."
"You forgot that they're ready, willing, and able to kill us in order to obtain their
fondest wishes, while we have to play by the rules."
"I figured that part was self-explanatory."
Peter laughed. It was a sad, short sound. It really wasn't a joking matter, but it was
better than dwelling on the cold reality they faced. Sure, he'd been in more life or death
situations than he cared to remember, but never before had everything been so cut and
dried. They were trying to kill them, while his side was trying to stay alive long enough
to somehow turn the tables and end this. . . game. . .without anyone dying. Two
groups--two armies--with conflicting objectives. It was war.
And he didn't like it.
"Do you think we'll win?" he asked.
The man in red was quiet for a long time.
"I really don't know."
The room wasn't very large. In fact, it was about the same size as his quarters back in
the Avenger's mansion. Rectangular with the door at one end and the bed at the other, it
also held a desk-like piece of furniture, two chairs and a couch. A small alcove set in
the wall opposite the desk could have been a closet or perhaps a bathroom of some sort. It
served as the former currently.
Hanging from an alien, but functional, hook was a heavy tunic of chain mail. Parts of it
reflected dully in the comfortable light of the chamber; the centered white star and
accompanying red and white vertical stripes were clearly visible on the dark background of
blue. Folded nearby were a pair of blue pants, along with a belt. Below these was a pair
of red boots. Matching red gloves were draped carelessly over them.
Across the room, lying on the desk, was a shriveled piece of blue cloth. Upon closer
inspection, one would realize it was a mask. A white capital "A" stood out on
the forehead, just above the eye holes, and a small white wing jutted out from either side
about an inch over the openings for the ears. There was also a large hole in the front
which would leave the entire lower face uncovered.
Lying next to this was a disk, about two and a half feet in diameter. It was concave, and
thus formed a slight dome against the flat plane of the desk's surface. In the center of
the disk was a white star imprinted on a circle of navy blue. This circle ended with the
points of the star. From there a ring of red extended outward, followed by a ring of
white, and finally another of red which terminated at the edge of the disk. Four rings in
all; red, white, red again, and blue, with the white star in the middle.
There were no other items in the room. The bed was not slept in, and the couch looked new.
Only the chairs were out of place, shoved up against the wall in order to clear the floor
for the activity the room's new owner was engaging in currently.
Soft sounds of steady breathing would have directed any visitors to look at the floor,
where they would have seen a perfect specimen of the male human body doing one-handed
pushups clad only in a pair of boxer shorts. The musculature of the man was astonishing,
and it shined softly with sweat as he suddenly switched hands without missing a beat.
But as hard as his body was working, it did not compare to the mental rigors he had
decided to undergo. For this was Steve Rogers, Captain America, and it was to him
leadership of the heroes had fallen.
A short buzz interrupted the silence of his room.
"Come in," he said without stopping. He heard the door slide open with a sharp
hum like something out of a science fiction movie, "I'll be with you in a minute. I
still have forty more to go with this hand."
He glanced up to see who it was. Reed was going to explain to him how to operate the base
defenses once he figured them out. That was only an hour or so ago, but Steve knew there
was hardly any technology in existence Mr. Fantastic couldn't figure out. He was probably
already--
He stopped in mid-extension when he saw the purple spiked heels and the rather shapely
legs attached to them. "Rachel?!"
"Don't stop on my account," Diamondback said, walking gracefully into the room
and falling onto the couch, kicking off her heels in the process. The door closed smoothly
behind her, "I'm enjoying the view."
"Rachel!!" His face flushed red, not from exertion but embarrassment. He quickly
finished his exercise.
She watched him quietly, taking in the massive shoulders, taunt back, and muscular legs.
She thought she'd never seen a better body, and she knew she would never meet a better
man. If only he'd set aside a few remaining barriers, then they could--What was he doing
now? Dressing?
"You're not going to put your uniform back on all sweaty, are you?"
Steve stopped with one leg of his pants half way on. "Well, I don't see much of a
choice. I haven't had time to find a shower, much less figure out how to work one."
"Here," she stood up and hit a button on a control panel next to the alcove. A
section of the wall opened and a set of towels appeared. She hit another button, and
another door, one he hadn't noticed before, opened. Behind it was an unmistakable
bathroom, complete with a unit which had to be a shower of some sort.
He looked at her with mild surprise, "When did you learn about that?"
"While you were in the command room planning brilliant strategies with Iron Man, Mr.
Fantastic, and the other big wigs, the rest of us have been figuring out the basic
utilities. Somebody had to find the toilets!"
Steve took off the pants once again, grabbed a towel, and entered the bathing alcove.
"Do you want me to wash your back?"
"Rachel!!" He looked back at her, irritably. But when he saw her standing next
to the couch in her fighting costume, auburn hair cascading down her head to her
shoulders, green eyes staring at him from behind the black mask, and red lips parted
slightly, upturned in a small smile, he felt the sudden urge to embrace her and kiss her
and--
He forced that thought from his head. Now was neither the time or the place. He had more
important things to worry about. Like keeping her, himself, and the rest of his team
alive. "I'll be out in a few minutes."
The door slid shut.
Even if he weren't invisible, the night would have given him excellent cover. With no moon
or stars, it was nearly pitch black outside. Of course, the Herobase was lit up like a
city.
It was huge, dwarfing any structure he had ever seen, even the palace back on the
Throneworld before Galactus destroyed it. He felt the rage from that old wound flare up
inside him. He knew what he would wish for once his side won. . .the death of a certain
eater of worlds.
He turned his attention back to the matters at hand. Although there were undoubtedly
sensors on line, Doom didn't believe they would pick up his invisible form. "Richards
will work furiously to get everything up and running," Doom had told him, "but
if their base is comparable to ours, which logic dictates it must be, since the Beyonder
has taken pains to create a fair contest, there will simply be too much for him to do in
the short time he has had. We discovered our base first and have not had to deal with the
additional problem of prisoners, yet I am still deciphering several of the systems. In
addition, Captain America will no doubt try to follow some kind of democratic manner of
leadership. They will waste time debating instead of doing. I doubt he has had time to get
everything operational. If you raid now, you can do a great deal of damage to their morale
and possibly free some of our men. Once you get a feel for their defenses, we can attack
in earnest at dawn. Loki will be waiting for you just beyond their sensor range and will
teleport you and any freed allies to safety."
He took off towards the base, still invisible. He half expected to be challenged before he
could get within striking distance, but nothing rose to meet him. Perhaps Doom was
right . Maybe we did catch them unawares.
The skrull grinned. Good.
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