Civil War Prose Novel (7 page)

THE
place: corner of 12th Street and Fifth Avenue, Manhattan. The time: 8:24 AM—morning rush hour. The robot: twelve feet tall, shaking the ground with every step, its face a gigantic, twisted mirror-image of the villain called Doctor Doom.

Tony Stark braked to a stop in midair, half a block away from the robot. He looked down, saw that the police had cleared the block. People stood behind barricades, watching, recording the scene with their phones and digital cameras.

“This is our chance,” Tony said.

Ms. Marvel glided up next to Tony, waiting for instructions. Below, Luke Cage and the Black Widow sprinted down the middle of the cleared street. Spider-Man followed close behind them, webbing his way from traffic light to streetlamp.

Tony opened a radio link. “Reed, are you online?”

The robot stamped down hard, cracking open the pavement. People gasped and shrank farther back behind the barricades, pressing up against storefronts and deli windows.

“I AM DOOM!” the robot said.

Reed Richards’s voice crackled in Tony’s ear. “In the absence of conclusive evidence,” he said, “I would assume that’s the Doombot.”

Tony frowned. Joking, or just stating the obvious? With Reed, it was hard to tell.

“We’re ready, Tone.” Spider-Man came through crisp and clear on the Stark frequency. “Friendly neighborhood rookie Avenger, reporting for duty.”

Tony scanned his troops. Tigra nodded fiercely up at him; Cage looked grim, unsure. Spider-Man clung to a factory building wall, ready for action. Ms. Marvel hovered, poised and statuesque as always.

With a thought, Tony turned his armor’s amplifiers up to full gain. “ATTENTION CITIZENS,” he said. “I AM IRON MAN, A REGISTERED SUPERHUMAN; REAL NAME, ANTHONY STARK. THIS IS AN INITIATIVE-APPROVED SUPERHUMAN PROCEDURE, OPERATING WITHIN SRA SAFETY PROTOCOLS. PLEASE STAND BACK AND ALLOW US TO DO OUR JOBS. THERE IS NOTHING TO FEAR.”

People exchanged glances, unsure.

The robot took another slow, lumbering step down Fifth Avenue. “I AM DOOM!” Its foot raised another quake, setting off a block’s worth of car alarms.

“Reed,” Tony said. “Quick rundown on this thing. And I mean quick.”

“It’s a prototype peacekeeper, built by Doctor Doom—you know who he is?”

“Yes, Reed.”

Victor Von Doom was Reed’s arch-foe, a brilliant, armored scientist who ruled the country of Latveria with, quite literally, an iron fist. Doom had nurtured a grudge against Reed since their days in college together.

“Right, well. Doom claims he intended the ’bot only for domestic use, within Latveria. But it developed some sort of rudimentary artificial intelligence and fled to America.”

Ms. Marvel frowned. “Doom actually
warned
you about this thing? Why?”

“Maybe he sees which way the political winds are blowing in this country. I suspect he wants to get on Tony’s good side. Or perhaps he has another, deeper plan.” Reed hesitated. “I don’t know.”

Tony realized:
Those are his least favorite three words in the English language.

“Thanks, Reed. Stark out.”

Tony double-checked; all the Avengers were on his frequency. “Everyone follow my lead,” he said. “This is the beginning of a new era. It’s our chance to show how things will work, from now on. To regain the people’s trust.”

“Me like trust,” Spider-Man said. “Trust good.”

“I AM DOOM!”

“Aerial assault first.” Tony launched himself forward. “Carol?”

Ms. Marvel fell in behind him, her long red sash waving bright in the morning sun. Together they arrowed toward the robot’s head, slicing through the air in perfect formation. It turned glowing eyes toward them, lurched to one side—

—and stumbled into a parked car, smashing the trunk flat. A woman wrenched open the driver’s side door and half-stumbled, half-fell out, clutching a baby. She lurched, looking around with panicked eyes, and ran—straight into the robot’s leg.

Slowly, its head swiveled to look down at her.

Tony whirled toward Ms. Marvel. Her blue-gloved arms were outstretched, beginning to glow with power. Carol’s half-alien physiology allowed her to generate highly charged energy bolts; she was one of the most powerful Avengers in a combat situation.

But if she fired at the robot now…

“Carol.” Tony’s amplified voice was sharp, deliberately piercing. “Civilian safety first.”

Ms. Marvel grimaced, nodded, and swooped downward.

The robot reached a huge arm down toward the frightened woman. She stood frozen, backed up against the car, her fingers rigid around her baby. Ms. Marvel arced down between them, reaching out. But the woman shrank even farther back.

She’s as terrified of us,
Tony realized,
as of the Doombot.

“Protocols,” he said.

Ms. Marvel seemed to pivot in midair on the ball of her foot, coming to a stop just above the battered car. The robot’s head bobbed up and down in a confused motion, looking from her to the woman and back again.

Tony found himself staring at Ms. Marvel.
She’s beautiful. Statuesque, powerful, with a dancer’s grace. A model for everything we’re trying to achieve.

Ms. Marvel turned to the woman and spoke in even, rehearsed tones.

“I am Ms. Marvel,” she said, “a registered superhuman. Real name, Carol Danvers. I’m here to assist you. Please stand back and allow me to—”

Tony was already in motion—but a half-second too late. The robot lifted its huge metal arm and
swatted
Ms. Marvel out of the air.

“AVENGERS ASSEMBLE!”

Tony’s powerful repulsor rays blasted into the robot’s head. Sparks showered into the air. He retreated back a few feet and activated a multiple camera protocol. All at once, his internal monitors showed:

• Ms. Marvel had struck a building, raining bricks down onto the sidewalk. She was clearly dazed, but her pulserate showed even. No serious injuries.
  
• The woman ran off down the street, holding her baby. Safe.
  
• The Doombot’s brain-casing had cracked open, exposing servos and circuitry. But it was still standing. Tony felt the tingle of a radar lock, and saw an unfamiliar weapon-tube extruding from the ’bot’s finger.
  
• Spider-Man webbed through the air toward the battle. Cage and the Black Widow ran down the street, half a step behind him.
  

Cage and the Black Widow ran down the street, half a step behind him.

The Doombot’s weapon let out a bright arc-light flash, blinding Tony momentarily. Eye-filters dropped down automatically in less than a second. It took another three seconds for his vision to clear, and by then:

The robot was still in motion, but the Avengers were on it. Cage had climbed onto its back, pounding at it with steel-hard fists. Widow stood perched on a lamp-post, blasting its chest with her stingers. The robot lurched from side to side, almost as if it could feel the pain of their assault.

“I AM—DOOM,” it crackled.

Spider-Man landed light as a feather on the street, just behind the robot. He planted his feet firmly, reached out both arms, and fired off a thick barrage of sticky webbing. It struck the robot’s back—elegantly missing Cage, who climbed up toward the ’bot’s head. The robot stopped short, anchored back by the pull of the webbing.

Cage spotted the robot’s shattered brain casing and smiled a nasty smile. He cracked his knuckles once, then reared back and started pummeling the ’bot’s circuitry.

“Cage,” Tony said. “Protocols.”

Cage ignored Tony. He reached inside the robot’s head and began yanking out wires. Electric flashes sparked harmlessly off his tough skin.

Tony moved in, repulsors glowing. “Hold it steady, Pe—uh, Spider-Man.”

“You got it, boss.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Yes, boss.”

The webbing formed a thick cable now, stretching from Spider-Man’s wrists to the struggling Doombot. With practiced ease, Spidey twirled his hands and grabbed hold of the webbing, just as the last of it shot free of his web-shooters. Then he
pulled
.

The Doombot raised a leg, tried to move forward. Spider-Man held firm, his lean muscles straining. The Doombot stopped dead, stuck in place.

Inside his armor, Tony smiled with pride. These were the new Avengers.
His
Avengers.

“Keep it up, Peter. Nice work.”

“Thanks. Hey, Tone, when this is over, I need to talk to you about a few things.”

“I don’t have a hole in my schedule till next spring. Let’s do it now.”

Still gripping the webline, Spider-Man turned gold-metallic eyes upward in surprise. “Now?”

Tony switched to a private frequency. “It’s called multitasking.”

“Whoa! It’s like you’re inside my head.”

Then Ms. Marvel swooped up again, in front of the ’bot. She fired off twin energy-blasts from her hands, and the Doombot’s head caved in. It let out a piercing, electronic cry.

“Tick tock, Peter.”

“Right. Well, first off, I got your first stipend check. And…”

“Make sure they took out the FICA. FICA will really come back and bite you.”

“Tony, it was more than I made last year.”

Tony blasted the robot once, twice. It lurched; its head lolled loose now, connected to its body by a thick cable.

“You’re earning it, Peter. Right now.”

“Well, you know. Thanks.”

Cage was pounding repeatedly on the robot’s stomach now, bashing a deep dent in its metal hide. The ’bot doubled forward, falling to its knees.

Tony reached out and
swatted
the robot sideways. Switching his anchor web to one hand, Spider-Man reached out with the other and webbed up the thing’s optical sensors. Its head swung wildly, side to side, on the end of that cable.

“Peter, listen.” Tony gestured to Ms. Marvel, who let out another fearsome energy blast. “The Superhuman Registration Act becomes law at midnight tonight. I’ve personally assured the president that I will take charge of its implementation.”

“You?”

“Someone has to do it. Nobody wants some faceless administration bureaucrat in the job. Better that it’s someone who understands the powered community, who’s registered and operating publicly himself.”

“I…yeah. Yeah, that makes sense.”

“I’m going to need you at my side.”

“For that stipend? You got it.”

“It’s not a simple matter, Peter.” Tony flipped channels momentarily. “Natasha, sever that thing’s head, will you?”

From her perch atop a lamppost, the Black Widow smiled. Her stingers flashed out, and the Doombot’s head tumbled free. But its body kept moving, lurching around randomly, dangerously close to the fenced-in spectators.

“Peter, I’ll need your help in some matters of…enforcement. Details will be forthcoming.”

“Okay. I guess.”

“And there’s something else. You know what I’m talking about.”

“Tony…”

“Peter, it’s the right thing to do.” Tony paused, turned up his volume slightly. “And as of midnight, it’s the law.”

Spider-Man’s expression was unreadable beneath his mask. But Tony’s readouts showed elevated levels of adrenaline within him, and an accelerated pulse rate.

Cage grappled with the Doombot’s leg, kneecapping it repeatedly with one powerful punch after another. “This boy takes some punishment,” he said.

“It’s not open for negotiation, Peter.”

“I…I need you to promise me something.”

“Name it.”

“My aunt. Aunt May. No matter what happens, you have to keep her safe.”

“Peter, I swear to you right now: If you do this, I’ll personally protect that sweet old lady till one of us is dead. And I suspect she’ll outlive me.”

Spider-Man tensed, grunted. Then, drawing on every ounce of his spider-enhanced strength, he yanked hard on the webline. Cage leapt free, the Widow jumped down. Ms. Marvel wafted upward, all grace and power.

The Doombot crashed to the pavement in a shower of sparks. One leg joint twitched briefly, rattling against a manhole. Then it was still.

Tony looked down, surveying the scene. The Doombot lay in a sprawl of cracked tar, smack in the middle of the street. The Avengers stood in a circle around it, dusting themselves off. Natasha stretched a sore muscle.

Tony made a thumbs-up gesture to the crowd, and the police started lowering the barricades. People crept in cautiously, toward the middle of the street. Businessmen, tourists, women with strollers. They stared at the robot, hushed, for a long moment. Not speaking, barely breathing.

Then the crowd erupted in a roar of applause.

Tony reached out and took Ms. Marvel’s hand. Together, like royalty, they descended to the street.

“Hear that?” Tony said. “That’s the sound of people starting to believe in heroes again.”

“I ain’t sure.” Cage approached, rubbing his knuckles. “We still gonna
be
super heroes after this, Tony? Won’t we just be S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, on the federal payroll?”

“No, Luke. We’re heroes. We tackle super-crime and we save people’s lives.” Tony glanced at Spider-Man. “The only thing changing is that the kids, the amateurs, and the sociopaths will be weeded out.”

Widow raised an eyebrow, caustic as always. “Which category does Captain America fall into, Anthony?”

Tony rose up slightly, twirled around. He raised powerful arms to the crowd, and they cheered again.

Ms. Marvel smiled. Cage grimaced, looked away. Natasha nodded.

Spider-Man’s face was hidden, but Tony knew he was listening to every word.

Tony swooped low over the prone, unmoving Doombot. He reached out a metal gauntlet to a teenaged couple, who stood watching with wide eyes. The boy nodded, flashed Tony a thumbs-up sign.

“Trust me, Natasha. Cap’s wrong this time.”