Civil War Prose Novel (18 page)

Wilt, strung up higher than the others, screamed. A huge chunk of granite struck the top of his support beam, severing it from the ceiling. Wilt fell, screaming, still lashed to the beam, heading straight toward Johnny and the Punisher.

Sue reached out, extended her force field to cover her brother. Wilt bounced lightly off the field, wriggling free of his bonds, then dropped a few feet to the floor. Sue flashed the field off for a split-second to let him inside, then raised it again over all four of them.

Wood and plaster fell all around, clouding the air. The Punisher hadn’t moved an inch—he still stood with his foot on Johnny’s throat. Slowly he turned toward Sue, and she realized that, in the confusion, she’d let herself become visible.

The Punisher bared his teeth.

Wilt wriggled loose of his bonds. He scrambled around the inside of the force field, trying to get away, but bounced off its edge with a cry of pain.

Then a huge searchlight stabbed down through the hole in the roof. Sue flinched.

“CAPESEARCH RESULTS: FRANCIS CASTLE, THE PUNISHER.” The voice was deafening. “JONATHAN STORM, THE HUMAN TORCH.”

Up above, four heavy-duty S.H.I.E.L.D. copters hovered, buzzing and swooping through the concrete dust.

“SUSAN RICHARDS, THE INVISIBLE WOMAN.”

The Punisher leaned down to speak to Johnny, who was still writhing on the ground. “You’re
not
with them?” he asked.

“Nrrggh!”

“THIS IS S.H.I.E.L.D. TEAM FOUR. STAND DOWN AND PREPARE TO BE APPREHENDED.”

The Punisher turned to Sue. “Enemy of my enemy?”

“What?” she asked.

“Temporary truce.”

“Yrrsss!
” Johnny cried.

The Punisher raised his foot. Johnny coughed, grabbed his throat. Punisher reached down for him, helped him to his feet.

“FINAL WARNING. DROP ALL WEAPONS, CEASE ALL UNAUTHORIZED USE OF POWERS.”

Sue ran to Johnny, making sure the force field stayed intact. Wilt cowered in a corner of the invisible, dome-shaped energy barrier.

The Punisher waved a rifle to indicate the copters, tilting and hovering just above the blasted-open roof. “They’re not gonna go away,” he said.

Sue nodded, grim. She shrugged off her outer clothes, revealing her FF uniform below. Then, all at once, she lowered her force field.

“Get us out of here,” she said.

Johnny nodded, burst into flame. He grabbed her under the arms, by her flameproof uniform, and took off toward the sky.

A sharp
rat-a-tat
noise made Sue glance down. Wilt was making a dash for the door, away from the Punisher—who stood his ground, firing off two automatic rifles at once. At the walls, not the copters; randomly kicking up dust to cover his escape.

He must have a hell of a weapons bag,
she thought.

“METAHUMANS ATTEMPTING ESCAPE. FIREFOX-TEN AND -TWELVE, MOVE TO INTERCEPT.”

Sue and Johnny sliced upward through the air, straight toward one of the copters. A ferocious antiaircraft barrel protruded from its side, slowly swiveling to take a bead on them.

“Johnny!” she cried.

“Hang on, sis.”

He zigzagged through the air, up past the roof opening, then turned almost horizontal, soaring under the lead copter and past the other two. Bullets whizzed past, filling the air; Sue ducked her feet up, dodging them. She struggled to maintain a force field, but it was almost impossible to concentrate under these circumstances.

Then Johnny made a U-turn, sickeningly fast, straight into the on-coming fire. He reached out a hand, melting the bullets to slag in midair.

Sue could barely look.

Johnny shifted, still holding her beneath him, and began to soar upward. The copters buzzed behind, turning and climbing to follow.

“ALL UNITS STAY IN PURSUIT. METAHUMANS HEADING UPTOWN, STRAIGHT TOWARD TEAMS NINE AND ELEVEN.”

Sue looked ahead, gulped. Past the night spires of New York, above the green sprawl of Central Park, she could see a second batch of copter lights heading straight toward them.

We’re sitting ducks up here,
she thought.
Like a comet, flaming through the night—

“Sue,” Johnny said. “Make us invisible.
Now!
”

She nodded, closed her eyes tight.
Trust him,
she thought.
Trust your brother.
Slowly, Sue’s invisibility power kicked in. Johnny’s flame faded from view. She signaled him it was done, and he began to drop toward the street below.

“TEAM NINE, THIS IS TEAM FOUR. HAVE LOST VISUAL ON METAHUMANS. DO YOU HAVE VISUAL?”

“NEGATIVE, TEAM FOUR.”

“ENGAGE POWER SENSORS…”

The amplified voices faded as the street rose to meet them. Johnny gradually doused his flame, and they landed softly on a quiet corner of Central Park West. He gasped, coughed, and leaned against a lamppost, breathing hard.

A pair of joggers trotted by, oblivious to the invisible duo. One jogger cocked his head at the gasping noise, shrugged, and continued on.

Sue examined Johnny’s cut face, his bruised throat. “You all right?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Your head wound is bleeding again. That’ll have to be looked at.”

“Great.”

She glanced up at the sky. The copters were veering off now, buzzing angrily toward the south. They’d done it—lost S.H.I.E.L.D., for now at least.

“Better not…use my powers again,” Johnny said. “I think that’s how they tracked us.”

“Come on.” Sue took her brother by the arm, steered him into the wooded, patchily lit park. When they were hidden from view, she dropped her invisibility shield. “Let’s get to the Resistance. They’ll fix you up.”

“Blasted Punisher.” Johnny coughed again. “Think they got him?

“I doubt it. But that is
so
not our problem.”

They walked down a paved walkway, the traffic noises dwindling in the distance. The park was quiet; just a few clutches of people talking quietly or laughing.

“Not such a bad night,” Sue said. “We saved a man from being killed.”

“Maybe he deserved it.”

“Maybe.” She smiled at him, took a deep breath of night air. “But that’s not for us to decide, is it?”

TONY,
I need you to understand. I just don’t know if I can…

Spider-Man shook his head.
No. Not strong enough.

He sat perched like a mantis in Tony Stark’s workshop, on the edge of the main computer bench. Before him, an array of screens blinked with a constant flow of information, including S.H.I.E.L.D. updates, superhuman dossier reports, population projections, and statuses of known alien races. The floor beyond was strewn with Tony’s half-built projects: mini-reactors, engines, fuel supplies, what looked like half a flying car, and prototype Iron Man suits of every possible color and shape—torsos, helmets, gloves, gauntlets, rocket-boots, even a lower-body unit with tank-tread wheels on it.

I know you’re in a hurry, Tone. Tony. You’re always in a hurry. Maybe that’s part of the…

The computers had been on when Spider-Man arrived; in his haste, Tony hadn’t even activated a password lock. Spidey reached out a metallic tentacle and tapped an icon on a screen.

Above him, in the air, a holographic image shimmered into being. Tony—in one of his earliest Iron Man suits, solid yellow, blocky and thick—was standing alert on a city street. A ten-foot-tall Hank Pym lumbered up to join him.
Hank was the first Goliath,
Spidey recalled.
Or was it Giant-Man, then?

A flash of red and black, and the Wasp—Janet Van Dyne, Hank’s future wife—flitted onto the scene, no more than a foot long, her headgear pointed like a stinger. And then: Thor. He dropped from the clouds, hammer whirling, smiling a smile that said: What a wondrous thing to be here today, among the mortals.

It’s just, it’s all moving too fast. Tony, can you just listen to me for a…

Spider-Man stared at the hologram. These were the very first Avengers, newly formed; even Captain America hadn’t yet been found, floating in suspended animation. The Holo-Avengers fanned out, turning to watch as their enemy appeared out of thin air. A purple-suited man with devil’s-horn hair and a murderous look in his eyes.

Spidey frowned, tapped the display to stop playback. He double-clicked on the purple figure and a label appeared: THE SPACE PHANTOM.

The Space Phantom.

Things used to be simpler, didn’t they?

The file he’d accessed seemed to be a chronological record of the Avengers’ cases. Next to it, on the screen, a second icon read: P PARKER. He reached out a finger and tapped it.

The Avengers scene vanished, replaced by footage of the recent press conference. Spider-Man watched as his own image yanked off his mask, flinching at a thousand camera flashes. Holo-Tony put a protective arm on Holo-Peter’s shoulders, nodded at him warmly.

Spidey scrolled back through the file. He found himself watching a record of his own career, in reverse order. His appearance at the Stamford disaster, wearing his new costume. Tony asking him to join the Avengers. Clearing himself, at long last, with the New York City Police Department. Confronting J. Jonah Jameson, in Jameson’s office, about the publisher’s libelous editorials. Fighting Venom, Hammerhead, Silvermane, Kraven, the Vulture.

Tony’s records were impressively thorough. A strange sensation ran through Spidey’s stomach; he felt flattered, but also somehow violated.

There was one final image in the file. A still picture, two-dimensional and faded. A little boy with thick glasses smiled up as a man hung a medal around his neck. The medal read LITTLE SCIENCE WHIZ FAIR—FIRST PLACE. The man had gray hair, a meticulously tailored suit over his strong frame, and a stern look on his face.

Spider-Man leaned forward, frowning. The boy was himself, at age six or so. But the man…? He double-clicked the figure.

HOWARD ANTHONY WALTER STARK.

Behind the blank lenses, Spider-Man’s eyes went wide.
Tony’s father.

Spider-Man had forgotten that award, the very first he’d ever won for science. And he’d certainly forgotten the man who gave it to him.

But Tony hadn’t.

“Peter? Your tentacle is tapping a hole in my chair.”

Spider-Man leapt up, startled. He reached out and touched the computer screen. The hologram vanished.

Tony stood, in full Iron Man gear, at the entrance to the workshop. A curved ramp led up and out, allowing him to make quick aerial entrances and exits.

“Didn’t see you there, boss.”

Iron Man took two cautious, almost mechanical steps into the room. “I don’t remember inviting you into my workshop, Peter.”

“Sorry. I had to see you.”

Iron Man stopped, spread his arms. “Here I am.”

His chestplate glowed with power.

Spider-Man walked up to him, held up a hand. “Look—”

“Why don’t you sit back down and say what you came to say.” It wasn’t a question.

Spidey felt a flash of anger.
He’s doing that thing with his voice. The volume’s turned up, and the frequency bites into your brain. Makes you want to obey him.

“It won’t take long,” he said. “I just wanted to tell you I’m leaving the Avengers.”

Tony’s eyes flared red. “I see.”

“I’m really grateful to you for, for everything. But locking heroes up in the Negative Zone? Killing Bill Foster?”

“Thor reacted like a police officer, Peter. He was threatened, he responded with deadly force. But Bill Foster was a friend of mine…do you really think I’m going to let something like that happen again?”

“No! No, not if you can help it. But you’re in over your head, Tony.”

“What do you suggest we do with the unregistered super-people? Lock them up with regular prisoners? They’d be out again in fifteen minutes.”

“No, of course not. But…do we have to lock them up at all?”

“Here’s what you need to understand, Peter.” Tony whirled on him, fists clenched. “There are forces within S.H.I.E.L.D., and more importantly within the federal government, who want nothing more than to outlaw superhumans. Absolutely and completely.”

“Get—”

“The compromise we offered them was regulating our behavior. Voluntarily, and according to a plan
I
would administer. Because there’s no going back to the old days, Peter. That was never on the table.”

“Get out of my way, Tony.”

“What are you planning to do, Peter?” Tony stood before him now, tall and imposing, all weapons systems glowing. “Go on TV again, recant your support for Registration? Maybe join Captain America’s band of traitors?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“You little idiot.” Even through the armor, Spidey could hear the heat in Tony’s voice. “Do you really think you can just quit all this, go back to your old life? Everyone knows who you are now. What will you do for money? What about
Aunt May?
”

Rage boiled up inside Peter Parker. He
punched
Tony with all his strength, a superhuman blow that dented the armored figure’s chestplate. Tony flew through the air, shattering a computer console, and slammed into the wall.

“Aunt May,” Spider-Man snarled, “is far, far away from you.”

Tony raised his hand and fired a repulsor ray. Spider-sense flared in Spidey’s brain, but too late. The ray slammed into him, knocking him to the ground and taking his breath away.

“I trusted you, Peter.” Tony’s voice was quieter now. “I took you under my wing. I gave you everything. This is how you repay me?”

A second repulsor ray blasted out, then a third. But Spider-Man was on his feet now, leaping and dodging, twisting his arms backward to propel himself down the wall. “Nope,” he said. “
This
is.”

Spider-Man leapt straight toward Tony—

“Emergency passcode: Delta Delta Epsilon,” Tony said.

—and Spider-Man froze in midair. All his joints felt suddenly paralyzed, unresponsive. He clattered painfully to the floor, crashing down hard on one shoulder.

He looked around, dazed. He’d landed among an array of Iron Man helmets: red, gold, silver, white, some with fins or extra weapon mounts. When he looked up, Tony loomed over him like Zeus looking down from Olympus.

“Peter,” he said. “What kind of an engineer would I be to hand over a suit as powerful as yours without building in a safeguard? To make sure it couldn’t be used against
me
, its creator?”

Spidey struggled for breath.

“Listen,” Tony continued. “You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to run. You’re already registered; the hard part is finished. I’m willing to forget about this little tantrum.”

Spider-Man gasped, then spoke five words aloud. Too quietly to be heard, he realized.

“What was that?”

“I said…passcode: Whatever A Spider Can.”

Spider-Man whirled on his side, almost too fast to see. Raised an arm and shot webbing up into Tony’s face, blocking his lenses.

“What kind of a
science whiz
would I be not to figure out and nullify your override—
boss?
”

Again, Spidey reached out and slammed both fists into Tony’s startled figure. A killing blow, the kind he would never use against an ordinary foe.
But this,
he realized grimly,
is one of the most powerful men on Earth. In more ways than one.

Tony crashed backwards, clawing at the webbing on his faceplate. Reached out with both repulsors, firing wildly. Spider-Man weaved and dodged, scuttling along the wall, past a freestanding equipment shelf. Making his way toward the ramp that led to the emergency exit.

Then the inner door burst open with an explosive crash. Spider-Man turned to look, momentarily startled.

A platoon of S.H.I.E.L.D. shock troops, in full-body armor, dashed into the room, their faces hidden by bulletproof, opaque visors. Their leader turned his head toward Tony, who struggled to his feet, slowly burning the webbing off his face with a low-power repulsor ray.

Spider-Man leapt toward the ramp that led to freedom. The S.H.I.E.L.D. leader pointed to him and yelled, “Down, Mister Stark! We got him!”

A hail of gunfire drowned out Tony’s response. Spider-Man had no time to dodge; the bullets struck him head-on. His armored costume kept them from entering his flesh, but they stabbed against his arms, legs, torso, knocking the breath out of him. He leapt through the air, twisted wildly, and fired off both web-shooters at random.

Then he was running up the ramp, jumping and bouncing off the corridor walls. Bullets continued to lance into his back and calves, knocking him off-balance, punching little holes in his suit. Every joint, every muscle, every inch of his skin stung. He stumbled once and slammed his shoulder painfully against the wall.

But he kept moving. It was the only way to survive.

Slowly his consciousness receded, leaving only instinct. As if from a long distance away, he heard Tony Stark’s metallic voice yell, “Stop!
Hold your fire!
”

Then he came to a large hatch, left slightly ajar after Tony’s entrance. Spider-Man wrenched it open and launched himself outside. The cold night air wafted over him, shocking him awake. He hung in midair for an instant, then reached out to cling to the outside wall of the building. He breathed hard, letting the noise of the city wash over him.

Inside, footsteps clomped up the ramp. Spidey slammed the hatch shut and webbed up the seams, sealing it tight. Then he started down the side of the building, toward the street far below.

Get to a manhole,
he told himself.
Just stay conscious till then. If you can reach the sewers, you’ll be safe.

But he knew, deep inside, that he was kidding himself.

Peter would never be safe again.