Ascension / Abandonment
Part VII: The Masters of Evil
the Twenty-Ninth Tale
Morning
The Lighthouse
"It is time."
The voice was that of Baron Zemo. His audience was the Masters of Evil.
Zemo felt his blood race through his veins, felt the hatred and pride that fueled him boiling over. He looked around the table inside the Masters of Evil headquarters - an old, abandoned space station built for a threat long forgotten - and saw his grandest creation.
Inside this room held the end of the world.
To his left, around the circular table, sat Ultron. The Red Skull. Mandarin. The Enchantress. Mephisto. The Green Goblin.
And Magneto.
The master stroke of Zemo, getting Magneto to stop acting the fool hero and join with them again. All it took was promising the mutant master of magnetism Australia. A small, small, price to pay for one who could single-handedly bring the world to its knees.
"Many of us are old men, now, in the winter of our existence," Zemo began, taking in the eyes of the Red Skull, Mandarin and Magneto. "We have aged well, despite our losses, and wherever our bodies may not move quite as fast as they once did, our minds are sharper than ever. The ageless among you," nodding to Ultron, Mephisto and Amora, "are no doubt, in the recesses of your minds, formulating plans to be rid of us, even if it is nothing more than to outlast us. But I need not remind you that there have been others who have believed in the 'survival of the strongest' and they will not bask in the glow of our spoils."
Zemo grinned underneath his mask, his eyes darting to the side of the room, where the head of Apocalypse was kept in a trophy case, a constant reminder of not only what they could achieve together, but what would happen to one who would cross their path.
"If you don't stop talking, Baron," the Enchantress said coolly, "the day will be over before it can be won."
Zemo stopped a counter snipe at the lips of his mouth, itching to get on with the conquest, "Ultron, report!"
The adamantium cased Ultron's eyes flared with ionic energy, his high-scratchy voice not bothering to hide his disgust, "Ultron is not your dog, Zemo! You would be wise to remember who it was that took Apocalypse's head, the head you were so proud to parade for the world to see."
Zemo nodded, seething inwardly. All of these villains, as great as they were, were fools. None but Zemo had the brilliance to bring them together and allow a year's worth of plans to unfold slowly, assuredly, leading to this day. "Very well," Zemo said lowly, "you all have your missions. Go. Take this planet."
FROM THE STREAMED CONSCIOUSNESS JOURNALS OF ATU SUMMERS, the WITNESS
RECORDED: 2024 / March
Washington, D.C.
Gone.
Captain America is gone. I almost can't believe it. Though I was never close to the man, the heroes talked about him as if he were the god walking amongst us, and not Thor. A decided pall has fallen over the remaining heroes as we all try to pick up the pieces of those who left during the Abandonment.*
* See last issue
I have come back here, to Washington, where I once worked, to spy on my former boss, President Stark. He'd branded the heroes who left traitors, and placed them all on the Super Criminal Most Wanted List.
You can guess who's number one on that list, can't you?
Since I was raised in the future, and knew of the Eternal War, and the role Captain America and the other heroes played, I had always tended to side with the Asgardian point-of-view, that these people sacrificed everything, so that the Everything may survive. But now, being down here, on the Earth, seeing it unfold as it happened, I'm torn. Surely, the fight they went to fight was noble, but what of the ordinary fights that took place here, at home? How much blame do they deserve for the malaise that settled over the Earth?
I focus in on Stark, my mutant ability giving me the power to look across the globe, as Vice-President Felicia Hardy enters his office. She tells him …
Oh dear god no.
Not this … not now …
2024 / January
The Oval Office; The White House
Washington, D.C.
It was the final year of the Stark Presidency, year twelve of twelve. His popularity was at an all-time high; ironic, he thought, that his popularity should increase with every day that the Abandoned heroes remained away from Earth. He'd had little contact with them since they left. For the first few months, reports had come back, enabling him to stay in touch with his former - and he did mean former - allies.
That's not entirely true, he reminded himself. Reports had been sent back to Avengers Mansion and SHIELD had intercepted them. Once Ben Grimm had discovered that his messages were being intercepted, however, he sent one last message telling Stark what he could do with himself, then stopped sending them altogether. Earth had been shut out of the galactic loop. President Stark had sent envoys into space to discern what was happening, so he knew some of the details …
Reed Richards was creating a space station off of his Fantastic Rocket, a station that he was apparently calling the Fantastic Colonies. It was a station devoted to the sciences. Typical Reed, Stark thought.
Captain America was here, there and everywhere. Doing everything he could to stop the Eternals reign of terror.
The Black Knight had gone insane.
President Stark missed his old friends, at times. And, at others, he still shook with anger at what they had done. He didn't want to keep expanding the Iron Sentinel program. He didn't want to keep expanding Prison One. He didn't want to create a fifth major armed services unit, the X-Force, an entirely mutant force that grew in force and importance with every passing day.
But without the original heroes, with the younger heroes constantly forced to fight more dire and dire threats, what choice did he have? The country needed protection. It drove President Stark, almost, to drink. It was bad enough that the majority of government contracts were going to fronts for criminal empires - Roxxon Refineries, Osborn Chemical, Hammer Industries, Williams Electronics, among them - but there were few companies that could handle the contracts the government needed filled and few Congressmen willing to say No to all those campaign dollars the multibillion-dollar fronts were throwing their way.
A light knock on the door was followed by Vice President Felicia Hardy's entrance into the Oval Office. Stark gave the still-attractive woman a forced smile, "What is it, Felicia?"
"It's Prison One, sir," she said, her voice shaking. "A riot has broken out."
President Stark snapped immediately to attention. "Outside?" he asked hopefully.
Felicia shook her head. "Inside, sir. The prisoners are rebelling. And it gets worse. All Iron Sentinels are reporting back to the Iron Yards, sir."
"What?" Stark exclaimed.
"The Iron Sentinels, sir," she repeated, her voice weak. "We've lost control of them."
"Full briefing in 10 minutes. I want to know how these things could have happened."
An Hour Earlier
Prison One
Milwaukee, Wisconsin
The Green Goblin and Mandarin stood on the roof of Prison One, a building that stretched almost as far as the eye could see.
"Tell me, Mandarin," the Green Goblin's high pitched voice rang through the air, "if you ever really thought this day would come! The world about to shudder beneath the heels of the Masters of Evil!"
Mandarin looked coldly at the Goblin. Of all the members of the MOE, it was Norman Osborn, the son of Harry and grand-son of the original Norman Osborn himself, who he trusted least. The man was, all exaggeration aside, completely and utterly insane. "Cease your prattling, Goblin," the Mandarin spoke quietly, "and release your chemicals."
They stood at one of the numerous air vents in Prison One's roof. Goblin reached into the leather pouch at his side and withdrew numerous coloured vials. "Color coded," he grinned wickedly at the Mandarin, "for the rest of you simpletons! Would you like me to explain them to-"
"Just do what we came here to do," Mandarin looked around uneasily.
The Green Goblin laughed, "Who would have thought the Mandarin would be afraid of anything!"
"You try my patience," Mandarin shot back coolly, as the Goblin started tossing vials down into the ventilation system. "But there is no need to be foolish when standing upon a structure like Prison One. The Iron Sentinels will become aware of our presence shortly. If Ultron and Amora fail-"
Mandarin stopped talking. The Green Goblin wasn't listening as he continued to toss vials into the system, laughing hysterically into the night.
This had better work, the Mandarin thought. If he was to achieve victory over Stark, the humiliation needed to start here, at one of the first symbols of his Presidency.
The Lighthouse
Baron Zemo and Magneto stood watching a large bank of monitors; the images upon the screen a cut link from the Prison One security system.
Magneto shook his head, thinking, 'All those deaths,' but saying, "You've been planning this a long time, Zemo. How many years have you been sabotaging the designs and construction of the Prison One structure?"
Zemo grinned proudly from under his mask, "Ah, I forget, sometimes, that you have not been with us the entire time. Nearly from the beginning of the Prison One construction, we have built certain … enhancements into the structure that we could one day take advantage of. Nothing too obvious, of course - Stark is not a stupid man - but the glorious democratic government of the Americans allowed us to move certain things past the members of Congress."
"You bribed them?" Magneto asked, disgustedly.
Zemo nodded, "For most, it took nothing more than funneling large quantities of capital into their campaign accounts through Osborn Chemical and other corporations, and for the other members … Mephisto was quite willing to step in and provide extra benefits in exchange for their votes." Zemo laughed, "Ah, democracy!"
Magneto did not answer, his face glued to the screens. What would Stark do now?
"Magneto!" Zemo barked to the sullen man behind him, thinking his lack of boasting was a sign of his incompetence. "Do not fail us, or your head shall end up stuck in a glass box like your fellow mutant, Apocalypse."
Magneto's eyes flashed, his hands twitched, but he said nothing; he turned to go, his cape swirling after him, his boots clanging on the metal surface of the space station's floor, leaving a grinning madman in his wake.
Iron Yards
Detroit, Michigan
Ultron and the Enchantress could not suppress their joy, even if he had wished it. They stood on a rooftop, overlooking a field of tar and metal, and just behind that, a large hangar; standing in front of them, stretched out across their place of creation like soldiers standing at attention, was almost Stark's entire fleet of Iron Sentinels, awaiting their command.
Amora moved to stand behind Ultron, letting her graceful hands and long fingers play over his shiny, adamantium surface. "Mmm, all this shiny metal," she whispered into Ultron's ears, looking out at the field of gigantic Sentinels, created in the various images of the Iron Man armor.
"Silence, woman!" Ultron shrieked. Behind him, Amora unconsciously licked her lips; she had yet to meet a man (a man?) as given to jealousy as Ultron. This Ultron was sleeker than most of the previous incarnations, allowing him greater flexibility (though he preferred the direct frontal assault in everything he did), but still with that horrific faceplate. "This is no time for your ceaseless inuedic prattle."
"If I don't silence myself?" she asked, teasing. "Will you put me in my place, then, robot? Are you man enough to handle Amora?"
Ionic energy poured from Ultron's unmoving eye and mouth holes, "You play a dangerous game, Enchantress."
"Then let us finish our work here, so that we may retreat to a more … fitting environment to watch the world burn."
Without waiting for a response, Amora placed her hands onto the side of Ultron's head, massaging his inflexible temples, relaxing her body and tapping into the back of her mind at the same time she reached into the depths of her soul. The world around them vanished to Amora as her magic begin to coalesce around her body in thin, green tapestries; she could feel Ultron's ionic energy buzz upward from the depth of his own mechanic soul, drawn to her call. Straining mentally, whispered words poured forth from her lips and she quickly slipped her hands from the side of Ultron's head down to his chest. She positioned her arms in front of him, moving them in the proper magical patterns.
Ultron stood perfectly still, concentrating; Amora caught glimpses of his whispering through the swirling wind, "1011-ssswwwwwwshhhhh-00111110101011011101110-sssswwss-0110-swwsss-01000101011010001…"
Amora let her eyes roll back in her head as she shouted the final incantations; a thousand bolts of green and yellow Asgardian magic mixed with Ultron's sizzling ionic energy shot forth from her fingers, penetrating the Iron Sentinels metal hide, permeating their wiring, drowning their programming. Amora let their joined power flow through her; her knees began to weaken and, for the merest of moments, wondered if she'd be able to complete the spell, but then Ultron's hands reached back to steady her and she leaned onto his cool, adamantium back, her resolve strengthened.
And then, with an abrupt stop, it was over, the last of the ionic magic sent to the Iron Sentinels. Amora gasped, started to fall, but Ultron had spun around, catching her in his arms. Her eyes looked up to him, bright and alluring; her mouth was dry and she said weakly, "Take me home."
Ultron, without question, lifted her off the ground and soared into the air, heading for Alaska, where a portal to Asgard awaited.
Relaxing in Ultron's arms, Amora looked down to see the Iron Sentinels lifting off, ready to fulfill their new mission.
London, England
The Red Skull had waited 80 years for this day. He glanced up at the sky, thinking that if Zemo was at all his father's son, he, too, would appreciate the fall of England to a Nazi officer.
He stood on the deck of an American battlecruiser, Great Britain in the distance in front of him. All U.S. battlecruisers had been decommissioned by Stark during his Presidency, called an "outdated relic of an era of warfare no longer relevant," but the Skull had always felt a cold thrill at the destructive power of these American war monsters. Outdated? Feh. Destruction was never outdated.
The Skull looked out at his troops, ten thousand demons, dressed in Nazi regalia, called from the Underworld by Mephisto and sworn into the service of the Masters of Evil. Grudgingly, the Skull held Zemo in high regard for managing to bring them all together for this; he knew he would never have put up with this mass of egos. The demons awaited his command. He gave it.
"Make the Thames run red," he let his German accented English thicken for effect. "Level this godforsaken land."
By the time he had returned to the captain's deck, the demon troopers were storming the shores. "Commander?" a demon asked.
"Fire when ready," the Red Skull grinned. Explosive plasma blasted from the massive cannon mounts, sending a hailstorm of liquid fire down onto London.
The Oval Office; The White House
Washington, D.C.
The Oval Office was full of people, all of them, it seemed, shouting something at Stark.
"Iron Sentinels now attacking Prison One!"
"They’re trying to free the prisoners!"
"Guardsmen at their mercy!"
"Red Skull is leading an attack on England!"
"Intel reports that Ultron and the Enchantress responsible for overriding Iron Sentinel programs!"
"The Mandarin is battling the Eastern Front over Beijing!"
"Mephisto just encased all of New York City in a black bubble!"
President Stark had had just about enough, the people in the room were shouting just to shout, like they were actors in a play. Not professionals.
Not the Avengers.
Calmly - so calmly it sent a shudder down the spine of Vice-President Hardy - President Tony Stark reached under his desk, pulling out a fashionable briefcase.
As the television monitors in the distance showed Iron Sentinels ripping off the walls of Prison One and the first prisoners breaking free, shouting with glee and anger into the glorious sunny spring day, President Stark opened the briefcase, reached in, and fitted his right hand into an Iron Man gauntlet. Raising his right arm, he pointed the glove at the bank of television monitors, and fired.
As sparks went flying from the destroyed monitors, the room screamed once, then silenced as dust and debris fell gently to the ground.
"Enough," President Stark announced flatly. "It's time for everyone in this room to shut the hell up and listen to a tired, old man. Anyone with a poll in their hand, get out. Anyone who's never seen combat, get out. Anyone thinking I shouldn't jump into this metal suit today, get out. Anyone left after that," he said coolly, his eyes taking everyone in, "get on the phones and scramble every piece of military hardware we've got. I want a defensive ring around this capital. Get the hackers working on the Iron Sentinel programming overrides." He looked to the window, "Mandarin, Green Goblin, Ultron, Enchantress, Red Skull … unless I'm as out of touch as Hawkeye thinks, there's only one man who could be behind this. Baron Zemo. And if it is Zemo," Stark set his jaw, reaching back into his briefcase, "he's coming here."
The Lighthouse
Baron Zemo was excited, finding it hard to keep his cool. Everything was going as expected: the Goblin and Mandarin had sparked the riot, Ultron and Amora had brought the Iron Sentinels to their side, Mephisto had voided out New York City and the Mandarin would keep the Chinese occupied. That left two armies of importance: the United States and Atlantis.
With a laugh, Zemo left the Lighthouse to take his place at the front of the army that would level Washington, D.C., knowing Atlantis was in other hands.
The sky above Atlantis
It was a glorious day over the oceans of the world. Magneto floated in the sky, his arms outstretched. He was an old man, his memories stretching back to the horrors of his youth and the German concentration camps.
It was all it took for him to not reach out across the Masters of Evil roundtable and snap the necks of the Red Skull and Baron Zemo.
There was not much time left in his life and he still had not done the one thing he had always striven for: the safety of mutants everywhere. Yes, he thought, concentrating on the ocean floor miles beneath him, things are getting better, but not fast enough. Celebrity status for a few does not mean equal treatment for all. Mutants still get twice the sentences for their crimes, and half the aid for the sick and needy.
He pushed the thoughts aside. It was time to concentrate. Even for him, even in his prime, what he was about to do would not be easy. His power flowed outward from his body, directed towards the city of Atlantis far below. Contact. The magnetic fields bent to his will and Magneto, with excruciating agony, did what few would ever think possible, and certainly not the people in the city below.
Magneto was going to raise Atlantis from the deep and return it to the sun.
There was a cracking. He could not hear it, but in the back of his mind, he could feel it give way as less pressure was now needed to do what he had come here to do. Sweat poured from his skin and his eyes remained closed. Months of intensive study of the architecture of Atlantis and the ocean floor flooded his mind; there was nothing left to doubt, and little to chance.
A cracking.
Another.
A third.
Magneto strained, raising his arms with the effort. Straining, deeper, deeper, further and further into himself he went, as further and further out he extended his power, then looped it back to him, creating not only a pulling, but a pushing on the great mass.
Minutes stretched out, but it was working. He glanced down, but could see nothing through the water. It was easier now, though, the closer to the surface it rose, the easier the job to lift it.
A few more minutes, and then …
And then, Atlantis once again was kissed by the rays of the sun.
Magneto looked down at the city, their calculations proven correct, as it floated in place on the ocean surface. If Zemo's plan was to be fulfilled, the citizens of Atlantis would now suffocate or burn to death, trapped at the surface and inside Magneto's magnetic bubble.
Washington, D.C.
Tony Stark felt alive, soaring high over the capital inside the Iron Man armor. Not once since he had taken the oath had he donned the armor; not even for publicity shots that Karla Sofen had wanted so dearly.
Sofen. He thought of her, unsure of what he should feel. He owed this, his Presidency, to her. Of that there was no denying, but … she had gone too far. Blackmailed and coerced one too many people. She had learned, too late, after being too drunk on her acquired power, that when you played mind games with the wrong people, you did not walk away unscathed.
Below him, throughout the city, troops waited in position. It was dusk and the relative warmth of the spring day was vanishing quickly into a cool, then cold, night.
Everyone waited.
He's toying with us, Stark thought, knowing through the com-link in his helmet that neither Zemo, or anyone else, had yet emerged as the head of this operation. But it was Zemo; Stark could taste it. Only Zemo had what it took to pull this many egos, this many agendas, together.
In his mind, a sudden image appeared. James Rhodes. His old friend, dead. Killed by Gladiator. He looked down at the troops below, wondering, how many of them will die today?
"They're here!"
He didn't know who's voice it was in his helmet, but he didn't care. Adjusting his inner mechanisms on the helmet, he looked out into the distance through magnifiers.
Iron Sentinels. Not all, but many. Maybe as many as two-thirds. Coming to kill him.
"Ready to reap what you sowed, Big Ego?"
Stark stopped, his heart skipping a beat. That voice. His eyes left the approaching Sentinels and looked down, down at the ground, across the fields, onto buildings and monuments.
"You'll find me only when I want to be found," the voice came again. "Nice suit, by the way. Hope you haven’t forgotten how to be a hero."
Stark fumed and exhalted at the same moment. He started to say something, but the words were stuck in his throat. He couldn't talk. But it was him, of that there was no doubt.
Hawkeye. The most wanted man in the United States. The man who'd been the biggest pain in the side of his Presidency.
"Here's the plan," the voice said again, the old cockiness still in evidence. "Don't get yourself killed. I want you around to give me a full pardon after I save this country's ass one more time. And yeah, if you're wondering, it's Zemo. God knows military intelligence ain't worth a shit."
The Iron Sentinels were close enough now that the soldiers on the ground could see them clearly.
"Way I figure it is this," Hawkeye's voice came into President Stark's ear one last time. "You and me to save the world, one last time. Don’t blow it."
FROM THE STREAMED CONSCIOUSNESS JOURNALS OF ATU SUMMERS, the WITNESS
RECORDED: 2024 / March
Washington, D.C.
In centuries past, people would gather on the sidelines, perhaps on a hill, and watch battles being fought. This is the position I now find myself in.
It is a brutal, brutal battle. Five hours since the first shot, fired by Iron Man, and no end in sight. Iron Sentinels battle everything - army, air force, marines, the newly formed x-force battalion. Only thing missing is the heroes. As I look around the globe, I see chaos. But out there, the good guys are more than holding their own.
Here, however, things are looking grim. President Stark has left the field of battle three separate times, only to return wearing a different set of armor. Hawkeye, one of the President's largest critics over the past twelve years, and the most wanted super criminal in the land, dashed through the battlefield, making a general nuisance (to both sides, I might add) of himself. But he was effective, oh so effective. Many were surprised when he didn't leave with the other heroes during the Abandonment, but he felt his place was here. He is a great man, flawed terribly, but a great man.
I do not know who will win the day.
Washington, D.C.
Clint Barton reached into his quiver and withdrew another arrow. To all who would look, the quiver was completely empty, and yet Hawkeye continually reached back and retrieved an another arrow. What they didn't know was that, thanks to a friend, his quiver was really a gateway into a pocket universe.
And he'd been storing arrows there for a very, very long time.
The Iron Sentinels still lumbered about the battle field - What the hell was Stark thinking when he built these? he spat - but they were only the first wave. Mephisto had arrived with hordes and hordes of demons, and there were plenty of average soldiers, most likely ex-Hydra and AIM agents now working for Zemo.
Hawkeye was knocked to the ground by a massive explosion; lifting his eyes to the sky he saw a SHIELD Hellicarrier exploding over and over again, tilting towards the ground. He shook his head, hoping it didn't fall on his head.
He'd been skirting the field, looking for Zemo, only wanting - only needing - one clear shot to end this. Zemo was the mastermind; take him off the board and the game will disintegrate.
There.
Through the heavy, burning smoke, Hawkeye saw the familiar pink mask, shouting orders down the chain of command.
He steadied himself, reached back into the quiver, and took a deep, calming breath. He pulled an arrow out and strung it to his bow. Vapor Arrow. Completely disintegrate anything within a five foot radius of impact. The smoke poured and poured, heavy and tinged black and grey. Flames leapt into view, but Hawkeye stood his ground here, not fifty feet from the base of the Washington Monument.
A shadow crossed his vision and he knew, without looking, that an Iron Sentinel was bearing down on him. "Come on, come on," he urged the smoke, wanting a clear shot at Zemo. He knew one shot was all he was likely to get.
The shadow grew.
The smoke, seemingly mocking him, grew thicker.
He was enveloped in darkness. He guess the Sentinel was not more than 30 feet overhead now. He had less than five seconds.
Stay on target or take out the Sentinel?
The smoke teased, offering a glimpse of pink through the haze. Has to be Zemo. But what if it isn't?
Three seconds. Zemo or Sentinel?
Hell with it, he thought. Who wants to live forever?
A window opened in the billowing smoke. Zemo's face.
For a moment, the world went still. Clint could feel every tendon in his hand. He would fire at Zemo, and die in the process.
He fired, knowing the Sentinel would kill him. Hoped only to see Zemo go before he was crushed.
The arrow was barely clear of the bow when a screaming of jets poured in over his head. He smiled, not needing to look, but allowed himself a glance at the glorious red-and-gold form.
The cavalry had arrived. Iron Man.
First, Barton heard the crunching of metal on metal as Iron Man collided full bore with the Iron Sentinel above him.
The he saw the arrow, hard metal point with an attached vial of the explosive, pierce Zemo's chest, imbedding itself in his heart. Zemo looked his way.
Screamed.
Died in a flash of light that didn't matter. The shot would have killed him anyway.
Hawkeye looked to find Stark, but saw only a pile of metal that used to be an Iron Sentinel. In his ear, he heard a voice.
"Hawkeye?"
"Mags, where the hell are you?"
"Look east."
Hawkeye turned and his heart burst through his chest, "You crazy sunuvabitch! I can't believe you did it! God damn right!"
Looking east, Hawkeye saw their ace-in-the-hole come through as Magneto led the Army of Atlantis onto the battlefield. Within three hours, eighty percent of Zemo's troops were dead. Mephisto, stunned for only a split second at Magneto's betrayal, never felt the master of magnetism explode his chest from the inside out.
The Masters of Evil did not take Washington, D.C.
FROM THE STREAMED CONSCIOUSNESS JOURNALS OF ATU SUMMERS, the WITNESS
RECORDED: 2065 / October
The Blue Area of the Moon
But they did take Beijing, Moscow and London, and sent a panic through the United States that it had never felt before. Ultron swiftly stepped into Zemo's role and coordinated a reign of terror on the United States that seemingly did not end. Prison One was a rubble, it's six thousand prisoners now free to once again roam the countryside.
And they were hardly in a mood to be nice to people.
In the Assault on Washington, as the press had taken to calling it, President Tony Stark lost his life saving that of his former teammate, Hawkeye. His body was found a mangled mess, and a construct was built so that the country could have an open casket funeral service.
But that didn't come for weeks afterward.
Magneto and the Atlanteans should have been viewed as heroes, but they weren't. The United States was in no mood to celebrate anything, given the large amount of lives that were lost. Atlantis was once again sunk to the bottom of the ocean, cut off from the world, and Magneto went back to being Magneto; sometimes seen as "good," sometimes seen as "evil," but always fighting for the rights of mutants across the globe.
But Magneto, despite his wavering faith through the years, was also a Jew. He had lived through the horrors of the Holocaust and had not forgotten them. He leaves the battlefield in Washington and flies directly to London, where he kills the Red Skull with his bare hands, no powers; Great Britain remains overrun by demons, eventually cutting itself off from the rest of the world.
Any Nazi, or neo-Nazi, organization that arises over the next few years finds itself quickly wiped off the face of the Earth. No one investigates the crimes. Everyone knows who's responsible.
Felicia Hardy stepped in as President, but she had a hopeless job and did not seek re-election. She left office a broken woman, slightly brain damaged thanks to yet another attack on the capital, eventually funding an evil scientist of the day to make a clone out of Peter Parker, whom she then had mind-controlled and taken to an island paradise where she was never heard from again.
A harmless thought on the night of the big victory by an SCN reporter became a turning point. The thought was, "Despite this great victory, one has to wonder how differently things would have turned out had some of our greatest heroes not abandoned the Earth for the stars."
Over the course of the next few months, that became a rallying cry for politicians who were looking for somebody to blame. The Prison One and Iron Sentinels program had helped contribute to a softening of the American Hero and when push came to shove, many found themselves unable to win the day.
Crime skyrocketed. People did not feel safe. President Stark was gone.
The blame on the departed heroes grew.
At the funeral for President Stark, the junior Senator from Wisconsin, who's state was being mercilessly ravaged by the escaped prisoners, stood at the pulpit and said, "The greatest President anyone alive has ever seen is dead and there is only one person we should blame. That person, that man, is Captain America, the biggest traitor in the history of our great nation."
After that, people could not say enough bad things about Captain America and Steve Rogers, the 21st century Benedict Arnold.
The entire psyche of the Unites States, and the world, becomes damaged. We plunge back into what the historians are calling the Modern Dark Ages. They are still ongoing to this day, in 2065, 41 years after the Assault on Washington.
I am an old man now, mother Phoenix. Death has come to stand beside me; she is beautiful.
I am tired and my job is done. I think of the loves of my life … Paige … Makkari … dear Mak, what have you done?
I hope my recordings as the Witness will bear fruit for someone in the future. Good-bye.
Death comes to me, and I reach out my hand to her … she is beautiful …
END RECORDING
ATU SUMMERS DECEASED
THIS CLOSES THE STREAMED CONSCIOUSNESS JOURNALS OF ATU SUMMERS, the WITNESS
END ASCENSION / ABANDONMENT
Despite this great victory, one has to wonder how differently things would have turned out had some of our greatest heroes not abandoned the Earth for the stars.
-- MBQ … 13 June 2001
