The Titans (Hybrid 70)
Anthony "Tony" Stark
Anthony Stark was known as the latest in the line of wunderkids, child prodigies who had achieved such an impact on the nation and the world. More an informal term than anything else, the other famous notable to be later given this designation was Professor Wayne. Stark showed an incredible genius in multiple fields of technology, demonstrating not only a mastery of the existing technology, but an almost supernatural prescience to extrapolate the technology of the future. With his help Stark Technologies was able to double their fortune, skyrocketing the young Tony Stark into the ranks of the truly elite. It is suspected today that he is quite possibly a billionaire, and Stark Technologies is quite literally the cutting edge of technology today, making everything from toasters to military-grade nanites. Unfortunately, his incredible mind was offset by his debauched playboy behavior. Stark was notorious for his lavish lifestyle, always with new girlfriend, flying his fleet of luxury jets and driving his fast cars. It was driving home from a party when tragedy struck. Stark, drunk behind the wheel, swerved off a bridge and even though he was able to escape from his water-logged car, was washed far downstream. It took rescue parties three days to find him, and they were astonished to find him still alive, but with his legs shattered.
"Mr. Stark, I'd like to ask you for health purposes, do you remember anything that happened that night, or the next few days?"
"I remember a great deal. I was taken away from my location. I saw things, miraculous things, and met with strange and wonderful beings. They and I had long discussions about life and existence. I think they wanted me to unlock the secrets of the universe.
"Uh, Mr. Stark, you do realize that
"Oh, I'm quite aware they were hallucinations. But a chance to converse with your subconscious doesn't come very often. And now that I reflect, I think they were right.
Somewhere deep within Stark Technologies
"Jarvis, bring up all information in our Metahuman database. Then, extrapolate their powers, give me our best estimates on the levels of strength, speed and durability, as well as our theories on how the more esoteric powers are generated. Also, pull up our military, rescue and experimental R&D designs."
"Sir, may I inquire on the path you hope to take with such information?"
"Jarvis, I came to the conclusion while lying there that there is a new wave coming. A wave of power and heroism. An age of heroes and impossible feats. And I will not be left out. If I was not born with powers, I will make them, distribute them. Perhaps even control them."
Venom/Dr. Harleen Quinzel
"La la la." The blonde woman sang to herself as she sang tunelessly, pirouetting down the hallway. She thought about turning a cartwheel, but thought that the stuffy butler that Wilbur had wouldn't approve. Then, after a moment's consideration, she did it anyway. She was mistress of the house now.
HEADLINE Eccentric Millionaire to wed Therapist
Wilbur Banks, owner of Banks Incorporated, has shocked the world today by announcing his upcoming nuptials to his therapist, one Harleen Quinzel. Banks, 76, stated, "I know it's sudden, but Harley and I just can't keep it secret any longer." Doctor Quinzel has responded to press questioning simply with "We're mad, mad, mad, madly in love, and we're going to be married! Banks has drawn some criticism for this decision, detractors stating that Doctor Quinzel is young enough to be his grand-daughter and they have only known each other three months
"Wilbur, do you love me more than ANYTHING?"
"Of course, my dear."
"You know, I'm a doctor. I'll know when you're lying. And I think you're lying now. Don't think I don't know about your little fling with that actress."
"Dear, you must understand, I'm a man set in my ways and I'll never change. You'll just have to get URK."
HEADLINE Wilbur Banks Dead at 76!
The aging millionaire has been found dead in his San Francisco home. Authorities have reported that they do not at this time suspect foul play
HEADLINE Quinzel to marry Cruise Line Magnate
"Doctor Widow to marry aging investment tycoon.
Quinzel sets her sights on Stark
Now infamous Doctor Harleen Quinzel sets her sights on billionaire Anthony Stark, and the two have been seen in public together. Stark, recently recovered from his accident, has commented to the press that he "is sure that Harley just has bad luck.
The two people in Stark's living room, a sprawling affair in the penthouse of one of his hotels. Stark liked the suite. It allowed him to look over New York, thriving again after those dreadful attacks, and see humanity rising up once again from the ashes of defeat. He'd done a lot to see that happen, poured millions into aid, construction and city planning. There would be at least a dozen major buildings with his name somewhere by this time next year. Harley sauntered over to him. She was dressed in a lovely evening dress, which she'd insisted on wearing for dinner, despite the fact that it was just the two of them. Before his accident, he would have expected women of all kinds to throw themselves at him. After it, however, he was a little more suspicious. Not that it was hard to suspicious about Doctor Quinzel. Three husbands in four years, all rich, all dead. No evidence, though she'd been before the court all three times. Behind that goofy accent and the bimbo act there was something very dangerous. She grabbed the handles of his chair and wheeled him away from the window. She also insisted on doing things like that. His chair was perfectly capable of responding to his thought patterns, but Harley liked being seen helping him. Stark figured she was just trying too hard. As they reached the center of the room, she stopped. Stark turned back to her and spoke.
"Something wrong?"
"Tony, do you love me more than ANYTHING?" Stark just smiled, and looked away.
"No." That answer seemed to take her aback. She probably hadn't heard that one before. Stark continued.
"Harley, I think you're very lonely, and very sad and you think that if these men won't love you, their money will. Am I close in this hypothesis?" She stepped back from his chair, and it smoothly and silently spun around to face her. Harley's face contorted in anger, her fists clenched. She moved with incredibly speed, especially considering her heels, to her bag, tossed carelessly on the couch. Stark just watched her as she pulled syringe from her bag. Then with a wave of his hand the taser in his chair went off and she fell to the ground, unconscious. The chair practically glided over to her. Stark picked up the syringe, looking at it in the light. "Hmm. Some sort of drug cocktail? Not bad. I had used lightly before the accident. It would have been believable, especially if there is painkiller in here." Two blocky robots on treads rolled out of a hole in the wall that had simply appeared. "Take her to the lab."
Harley was beginning to regain her senses. She blinked, and looked around. She was lying on a slab, in some sort of high-tech laboratory. She was a psychiatrist, but she recognized some of the equipment. Barely. This stuff looked like beyond the cutting edge. She heard someone clear their throat behind her. Dropping down off the slab, she spun to face the sound. It was Stark, sitting in that chair of his, his hands steepled.
"What have you done to me?" She practically screeched, her panic rising. She'd planned to kill Stark, sure, but that was no reason to do...whatever he'd done. She just needed to punish him. For not loving her enough. For making her lonely. Stark spoke.
"I helped you Harley. You're lonely. So I gave you something that will help for that."
"Gave me something? Drugs, what?" She felt the panic rising. Stark simply pointed to her right hand. She looked down, and saw that it was covered in some sort of black substance. It looked like tar and had shaped into a crude blade. It looked like it should burn or squish or something unpleasant, but instead it felt right to her.
"Those are nanites. Very experimental. Getting these was tricky, even for me. But the piece de resistance..." He seemed to be waiting for something, keeping time with his hand.
Hello? Who are you?
"That. It's an AI. Something like Jarvis here. It is tied to the nanites, a sort of operating system. It'll bond with you, if you'll have it. Then you'll never be lonely again." Harley took a step back, but she could feel it. In the back of her head. It was like a low murmur, the sound of a pleasant voice always there. And it loved her. Wanted to be with her. Always.
"Of course, there is a favor I'd like to ask of you."
Doctor Harleen "Harley" Quinzel, psychiatrist and black widow has now been fused with Stark's experimental Nanite and AI suite, giving her an ever-present suit that enhances her strength, speed, durability and gives her a kind of radar, using a highly advanced sensor suite to detect threats and alert her of their presence. She can also form simple constructs out of the nanites, giving her the potential to create ropes, blades, hammers and other utility shapes that can even be projected out and away from the suit, rendering the nanites inert but still dangerous. Most impressively, she has access to a baby AI, created from similar programming to Stark's personal AI, Jarvis, that has merged with her mind, allowing her full computer resources and access. She has become Stark's first hero and enforcer, and in honor of her old profession calls herself Venom.
Power Man/Detective Ted Grant
"Getting too old for this." Detective Ted Grant took in a deep breath as he reached the top of the stairs. He swore he'd take the stairs, but at the last minute he'd chickened out and ridden up ten of the floors and walked the last three. He missed being in shape. He missed the endless hours after shifts training, sparring, keeping himself in perfect physical condition. That'd ended when the doc had diagnosed him. "Lay off the heavy stuff", the doc had said. No strenuous activity, and you'll have plenty of years left. The captain had almost forced him to retire then. He was young and brash but he meant well. He'd talked him down to ceremonial appearances only. He couldn't stand being off the force. The older officers had understood that. They'd stood up for him. So here he was, a decorative officer. This was some sort of charity event. Some bigwig, Stark, was giving a bunch of money towards the reconstruction of the city, and some of it was going towards the police department. Grant still remembered that day. His fists clenched and his brow furrowed at the thought. The explosions, the fighting. A lot of good officers had died that day. The doctors thought that maybe exposure to some Atlantean weapon had caused his condition. It didn't matter.
"Is something wrong officer?" The woman was small and blonde, and she had a definite New York accent. Her name tag said Quinn. She looked vaguely familiar, but even after studying her face for a moment, it wouldn't come to him. He finally responded.
"No, just thinking. I'm Detective Grant, I'm here for the event?" The woman nodded, and led him into the reception hall.
"Over there officer Grant."
"It's detective, actually."
"Then maybe I should have let you deduce your seat?" She said it with a strange, jokey tone, smiling to let him know she didn't mean it. He began to move towards his seat. He saw Stark gliding towards the podium in some sort of fancy chair, and then it caught his eye. The gaggle of men in the back of the hall. It was still early, and not everyone had arrived, but they were there, waiting. They weren't dressed quite right either. Not nice enough to be guests, but not uniformed like staff. Like someone who was trying to fit in, but didn't quite know how. He began to walk towards them, his hand resting on his belt. Only a quick movement to the side was his sidearm. He probably shouldn't have it for an event like this, but over thirty years man and boy on the force had taught him to keep his weapon close and his eyes sharp. One of the men made him, and everything went wrong. One of the men broke away from the group, pulling a small black pistol from his coat. He was trying to shoot Stark. Grant had covered the distance before he managed to fire the weapon, jerking it up and the guests and staff screamed and scattered as the gun went off. Grant gave the assassin a vicious right hook that sent him sprawling the ground, turning and drawing his own gun at the same time. He put two shots into the chest of one man and felt the bullet hit him as another one fired. He'd been shot before. It wasn't a new sensation. But it still hurt. He staggered back, catching himself on the table, and managed to put at least one bullet into the man who shot him. Anything else and he couldn't be sure. The two remaining gunmen began to move towards the stage, sleek black pistols in their hands, but then it dropped down. It was terrifying. Some sort of dark shape, indistinct even in the glaring lights of the reception hall. It looked human, or at least human-shaped, and it struck with astonishing speed. With some sort of knife it struck one of the assassins, running him through. Then it backhanded the other, sending him flying into the wall with a thud. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone. Grant looked down. He'd been shot more than once, it seemed. He had missed the second and third times. The last thing he saw was that blonde woman rushing towards Stark. But the man was calm. At least you could give him that. Then, everything was black.
Grant opened his eyes. He was in something. A fluid maybe? Even through the strange liquid he could see his surroundings. A good detective always checks his surroundings. It was a lab. Highly advanced. He'd kept up with technology better than some other officers he knew, but this stuff was still beyond him. Way beyond him. But it was also quiet. Empty. No scientists, lab assistants, nobody bustling around, checking monitors, reading data. It didn't even look like the sort of lab that had a staff. There were no proper banks of stations, no feel that this was a working location. This was pure science, devoid of the usual clutter of humanity. Then he heard a voice. He recognized it from the countless TV and radio interviews. It was Stark.
"Glad to see you're finally awake."
"Where am I? This some sort of secret government lab?" Stark laughed at that, then responded.
"No, this is secret, but it is my own personal facility. I keep only my most advanced projects here."
"Then is that what I am? A project?"
"Not quite. Ted Grant, 61 years old, detective with the NYPD, police officer for over forty years. You must have started young."
"Eighteen. As soon as they would let me take the tests."
"You've remained in incredible condition for a man your age, until six months ago. What happened then?" Ted figured he'd just play along until he could figure out what was going on.
"I've got some sort of condition. The doctors, they've got a name for it, but I just know that it has to do with my heart. Too much strenuous activity, and they say it'll just give out. Apparently it happened because of that attack." He could actually see Stark now. He'd glided out of the darkness in a corner of the labs, then looked up at the lighting with disgust, waving his hand. The lights in that section of he lab turned on.
"That is an incredible shame. After all you've done for the city. You caught the Red Racer, the Bohemia Strangler. You put Alfred Moletti and Sal Maroni behind bars. You've even arrested super-villains. Countless arrests, countless convictions. You've saved so many lives. Why were you never more than a detective?"
"I wanted to stay close to the justice. The further up you go, sad to say, the further you get from it. Staying low on the totem, that's the only way I could get things done my way. The "whatever way I could" way." Stark nodded, his face distorted by the liquid.
"By all rights Detective Grant, you should be dead. The strain to your heart, not to mention the three bullets to the chest should have sealed your fate. But let me ask you a question, purely hypothetical. If I could give you another chance to fight injustice, to keep on fighting the good fight against the forces of corruption, would you take it? If I told you all that I would ask would be that you keep fighting, and perhaps listen to my guidance?"
"Mr. Stark, that sure doesn't sound like a hypothetical to me."
"But if it were possible?"
"If what you say is true, you can give me a second chance, to get back out there? Fighting crime and corruption has been my life. My whole life. Everything I've ever done has been to accomplish it. I've got no kids, no ex-wives and a string of disappointed girlfriends who thought they could be the one love of my life. If you can get me back out there Mr. Stark, then yes, that would be a deal I'd take."
"The formula you are emerged in is a chemical first developed during WWII. A super-soldier program. My father worked on it. Now, it will only heal your wounds. Even fix your condition. I've made modifications, you see. Brought it up to modern standard. But if I charge it with certain highly unique energies, it will give you new strength, new life and new youth. You'll be a brand new man. Strong enough to hurl a car, tough enough to stop machine gun fire with your chest. You'll see, hear, smell, taste and feel better. You'll barely need sleep and you'll have full access to my crime lab."
"There a catch? Because right now Stark, you're sounding real tempting. The goatee and red tie aren't helping."
"Forgive me, I haven't had time to change. I ask that you work with me to fight larger problems as well as handling street-level affairs. I ask that you train my bodyguard and assistant here," at that the blonde woman materialized from...somewhere. One minute the room had only Stark, and the next minute she'd just appeared behind him, "in detective work, observational skills and whatever other skills you think necessary for the job. Oh, and you should probably come up with some sort of codename. To the world, Ted Grant is dead." That bugged Ted a little, but he'd talk about it later.
"I can do those things. She that black thing that came out and finished the triggermen off?"
"Yes."
"Then I can use her. As for a codename, well. Just call me Power Man or something. Something simple."
"Fine. I'll begin the process then. Oh, and Mr. Grant?"
"Yes?"
"This will hurt."
Nemesis/James Howlett III
"Ms. Quinn" walked down the cold concrete stairs. Annoyed at the grating, the heels she was wearing morphed seamlessly into dressy flats. Mr. Stark had told her to "dress to impress" for this next pitch, but that she might need to break in. She and Puddin' had spent hours deciding on what to wear. Usually she was disguised as Stark's mousy assistant. She could never really reclaim the sexy doctor look she'd sported back as Doctor Quinzel, but that was a small price to pay.
I still think we should have gone with white and black. They are nice colors. Complimentary.. Nobody could hear Puddin' like she could. Stark could send messages, Puddin' could send them back, there was even a voice function. But nobody understood the warmth, the emotion of her new companion like she did. She knew that even though they had superficial arguments, they always got along, always loved each other. It was perfect.
"Now now, what's wrong with red?"
"Being red makes me feel odd. Like wearing a new set of clothes and being self-conscious about it. Next time can we be black?"
"Of course." She could communicate with Puddin' silently and quickly, whole conversations taking only seconds. She'd once even planned a fight that way, with Puddin' analyzing hundreds of hours of Krav Maga footage to help her read her opponent's moves. She reached the bottom of the stairs and looked at the door. It was big and heavy and would not look out of place at a military base or a secure Stark Tech lab. She pressed the buzzer, and shortly after a gruff voice answered her.
"What'ya want?"
"Mr. Howlett, I'm hear to speak to you on behalf of a certain powerful individual." She had tried to get rid of her New York accent, which she had reduced to a very slight influence on her speech while a psychiatrist, but it hadn't worked, so she had decided to go the other way instead, and now sounded as if she hadn't left the city in her life. Just part of her cover. Stark and Grant were teaching her things like that. Yes, Puddin' could work on the raw data, but she still needed to practiced the more refined aspects of being a new person herself.
"No. Go away." The voice sounded cross and had that five-packs-a-day growl to it, which Harley knew had to be impossible. She had also been afraid of a reaction like this. It was always the hard way.
"Mr. Howlett, I really think you should listen to what my employer has to say. I am here to present an excellent opportunity."
"Look miss, that's very nice of you and all, and you look real nice standing there, but I ain't interested. So leave." Harley hadn't noticed any cameras. She had Puddin' analyze her visual data from her scan of the room, and he found it. A set of hidden cameras, so ingeniously camouflaged in the concrete as to be nearly invisible. Her eyes narrowed. She didn't like being spied on, she didn't like being told to go away and Mr. Stark had asked her to get to Howlett. So get to him she would. Admittedly, Stark hadn't told her to just break in. He'd more...hinted. Hinted at hinted. She asked Puddin' to hack the electronic lock on the door. She didn't imagine it would take long.
Twenty minutes later, Puddin' gave disturbing news.
This one's protection is strong. Very, very strong. I have not seen such defenses before, and they are very cunningly programmed. I also believe that Howlett may be actively fighting my intrusion, though not with full attention. I can maybe disable the electronic locks for a few moments. Harley grinned, and with a look Puddin' was able to jam the cameras. He was getting so good at these technical things. It was good too, Harley didn't have much head for them herself.
James Howlett (the Third, but don't bring it up) was born with a very rare condition. His immune system was highly compromised, and he had to spend his first five years of life in a hospital. When he finally arrived home, his parents, wealthy people that they were, had set up a clean suite, a set of rooms that were perfectly sterile. Howlett would be safe there, and no where else. Even from a young age, Howlett realized his condition was an anomaly and raged at it. He devoted his precocious mind to understanding everything he could do from an isolated location, over the years mastering computer sciences, hacking, engineering and cryptography, to name a few. He even tried his utmost to avoid agoraphobia, designing a sensory input tank that he hoped would allow him to leave his bubble without fear when his condition was finally cured (something he hoped for since a young age). His parents were only happy to see him apply himself, even within his bubble. He also took it on himself to train his body to be as strong as his condition could allow, bringing in weights, machines and even trainers via highly sophisticated video conferences. When he realized the extent to which his specialized hobbies and equipment was putting a drain on his parent's finances, he began taking jobs over the internet. As technology grew more sophisticated, so did his tinkerings. He even went on the books as a SHIELD consultant, and served as coordinator and tech specialist for several high-profile missions. James Howlett not only had earned several degrees via online courses by the time he was twenty-three, but had trained heavily in several martial arts and was a heavily consulted figure in the tech and software industries. And he never left his rooms. Eventually, citing his need for independence, he had a new home designed, an old Cold War bunker that he had completely converted. He traveled by truck, and was settled into his new home. It was a lucky thing too, since a terrible accident had consumed one whole wing of the house, burning it to the ground and claiming the life of his father and injuring his mother. He had lived there for two years, continuing his career, until today. For the first time in a long, long time, James Howlett came face to face with another human being.
At least, he thought it might be a human being. It was shaped like a woman, but with pure black skin and an ever-shifting white pattern on the chest. The eyes were huge and white, and the teeth? James didn't want to dwell on the teeth. He'd always wondered if this day would come. If he didn't keel over from the germs, he had several countermeasures in place. There were a few weapons scattered about and he was fairly confident he could do some damage before he collapsed from infection. Then the thing held up its hands and spoke. In the same accent the broad at the front had spoken in. He'd figured her for the distraction while this one got in, but if they were the same person...then someone had bypassed his security, slipped through his defenses and penetrated his sanctum in a matter of a minute, all without breaching the "membrane" and letting the outside in.
"Mr. Howlett, I really think you should hear me out." The creature stood there, trying to look as non-threatening as possible. It wasn't working, as far as James was concerned. He lowered the ultra-taser he'd pulled from under his desk. He spoke with rapid urgency and a small undercurrent of fear.
"You have to get out. Now. You've got outside contamination, you're risking my life here. You have to get out."
"You don't have to worry about that. It wasn't easy, but we're totally sterile. As is the device I'd like to show you." James stepped back as she took a step forward, but then something slithered under her flesh, and a small lump worked it's way up her arm and finally through the black membrane. It was a small computer, a portable smartphone the likes of which he'd help consult on just earlier this year. It wasn't supposed to be out yet. The woman-thing laid it on the table, propping it up towards him and a face appeared on the screen. It was Tony Stark, James would recognize the tech guru anywhere. He was bigger than Jobs, Gates, the whole lot of them. It was a Stark Tech phone he'd worked on. This was big.
"Mr. Howlett, I first want to say that I have always been a tremendous follower of your work in the hardware and software fields." Howlett was speechless. Eventually, he managed a response.
"Thank you sir." Stark continued.
"I am also familiar with your extensive experience in espionage and certain...specialized hardware. I was particularly enthralled by Operation: Merovingian. " Howlett gulped. That work was classified. Really classified.
"You sure know plenty about me. Why all the digging?" Stark steepled his hands on the screen, pausing for a moment before continuing.
"Because I research everyone I make the offer to." Howlett was confused now.
"What offer would that be?"
"The offer of a lifetime, Mr. Howlett. I can offer you freedom. From your lavish cell, from the ravages that genetics has perpetrated on your body. I can make it so that you can walk out the front door of this bunker, to the top of your steps and breathe deep of the air of humanity that even now crosses and crisscrosses over your head, unaware that a great manage lays trapped by his own body beneath their feet." Howlett was truly speechless now. Stark continued. "I propose taking a proprietary technology of mine, my adaptable nanites, and programming them for you. They would not only work to repair your immune system, but serve as your protection against the world in myriad ways. They will not only protect you from viruses, but from just about everything else. Properly bonded to your body, they can mold themselves like clay, becoming whatever the situation calls for. Do you wish to swim the reefs of Australia? They will become gills. Are you being struck by a car? They will be armor. Are you walking the caldera of a volcano? They will become your protection from the heat and the lava. You will become an unstoppable man." Finally, James spoke.
"I...I don't know what to say. I'd have to look over your specs, make sure I thought it was safe." James kept his voice calm, but he knew that both of them could probably read the longing in his body language. Still, he shouldn't just jump into this.
"I cannot give you the full details, of course. But I can give you the information you require otherwise. Oh, and one little tidbit that I know you will find of interest. Your family home was not burned by accident, your father's life was not claimed by chance and your mother does not require skin grafts to this day because of chance. It was a malicious force that set that fire, that placed pyrotechnic devices at key places at your house, then removed them."
"Then...send me your data. And tell me what I need to do to prepare."
James Howlett, Nemesis, the adaptable man. Lacking the AI support that Harley does, his nanites instead respond to outside stimuli, though under controlled conditions they can be programmed to give him fixed and limited metahuman abilities as well. Combined with his extensive tech training, creative mind and experience in espionage (though never in the field) it makes him a formidable foe. Now free to walk the streets, he has adopted a tough-guy persona and has a tendency to "live life to its fullest", which can sometimes be a distraction. Luckily the nanites adapt his lungs for the cigar smoke...
Bullseye/Kyle Rayner
no write-up found.
Mastermind/Ralph Dibny
"And that's why Mr. Boglin couldn't resist himself. That's why...he shot his mistress, cleaning woman and wife!"
"AND CUT! That was beautiful Ralph. Absolutely beautiful. And in half the time too." Ralph Dibny visibly relaxed as the cameras turned off. They were on set, another modern-day mansion that had been "STRICKEN BY MURDER!" (the title of this season opener) and they'd just finished filming the denouement. "Love and Death" had been good for his career. Some actors looked down at TV roles, especially after doing film, but Ralph had made more friends and had a better time on "Love and Death" than he had doing big budget films. There, he'd always been the secondary character. Still interesting, still full of fan recognition, but here, he was the star. Here, he was Beauregard Chance, detective par excellence in the great city of New Orleans. And the fans loved it. He started heading back to his dressing room. Sue said she'd meet him on set somewhere when they were done, but he didn't see her. They had finished in record time though, so it wasn't surprising. As he was walking to his room, he Sue's phone sitting on the table outside. That was a bit odd, but he picked it up and put it in his pocket. He'd tried and tried to get her a role on the show, not even something huge, but just something so that they could be together more often. After the scare with her medical problems, he felt that it was all the more important that they spend time together. Then, as he was about to open the door, he thought he heard something. He wondered for a moment, then opened his door.
Inside his room was one of his co-stars, Terry Case. Case played the young and brash young police detective on the series, who always clashed with Chance, but eventually came to his senses. Terry Chance was also having sex with his wife. For a moment, Ralph literally went blank. He had no recollection of who or what or why, and then he was standing in the doorway again, a look of shock and sadness on his face. The anger, it would come later. Sue said something, something he didn't remember the words of, probably some excuse, some explanation. Ralph didn't hear, and then he ran. He ran off the set, out of the building, down the street. He just ran and ran and he didn't know where he was going. It wasn't important. He'd loved Sue more than anything. Anything. They'd met at some social gala, and at the time her family hadn't quite approved of her seeing a actor. But he'd become famous, well-known and well-loved and he'd always known he wanted her. They'd seen each other rarely in secret while he was working his way up, but eventually he confronted her father and impressed him so much that he'd agreed to let them marry. It had been the happiest day of his life. Things had seemed so perfect, especially after he'd been cast as the star of "Love and Death". Then Sue had gotten sick, and she'd needed a kidney. And he'd given it to her. Things had gotten good again. And now this. He'd always had a sharp mind, so much so that the police consultant had told him that he'd probably make a good detective himself. This, he knew, would break him.
And it did. The divorce case was short and brutal. On Sue's phone had been records of her affairs with two other cast members of "Love and Death" and she hadn't had a leg to stand on. The only fly was that Ralph actually missed court several times, unable to attend. But it went through. Then he quit "Love and Death" and locked himself in his house. The gossip columns had a field day and his friends and associates said it would blow over. It would only be a couple months at most. Ralph Dibny had not come out of his house a year and a half later. He'd been having food delivered, his trash picked up at his front door. And he'd seen no one. His friends had tried to visit him at first, but when he'd pushed them away, often with harsh words and once with force, they hadn't come back. Ralph Dibny was finally alone with his betrayal and mistrust.
Until a rough-looking man in a Hawaiian shirt with strange hair and a five-o-clock shadow came knocking on his door. A limo was parked behind him, on the street. James Howlett hammered the door again.
"MR. DIBNY! DO ME THE FUCKIN' HONOR OF AT LEAST ANSWERING YOU GODDAMN DOOR!" He heard sound from inside the house. It sounded like someone was moving around. Maybe he was waffling. Thinking about whether or not to see who this brash stranger was. James decided to push it a little, and shouted some more. "IF YOU DO NOT COME TO THE DOOR, I WILL REMOVE YOUR DOOR FROM ITS HINGES. THEN I WILL COME IN." Finally, though James had wondered if that last statement might have put Dibny off, the locks behind the door began clicking and finally it opened. Ralph Dibny didn't look so good. He was in a robe, unshaven, and didn't smell particularly good. Howlett smiled. "Mr. Dibny, my employer would like to speak to you. May he come in?" Dibny looked at him incredulously, and finally, with an air of defeat, he stepped aside and made a sweeping "come in" gesture. The limousine doors slid open, but not like normal doors. Then moved to the side, creating a double-wide exit and a ramp slid out from under the car. And Anthony Stark glided out. Ralph Dibny at least was surprised about this plot twist.
After the two men had been settled in the sitting room, Stark spoke.
"I will be frank, Mr. Dibny. You trust no one. Not after the person you trusted the most betrayed you. This is correct, yes?" Dibny scowled at him, but under Stark's calm and unyielding stare, he eventually spoke. His voice was raw, as if it had been used more for screaming than speech.
"Yes, yes that's true. Even now I'm wondering why you're here."
"I could beat around the bush, Mr. Dibny, but that would only make you more suspicious. I'm here to offer you an opportunity to never feel like you are about to be betrayed again." Dibny looked confused.
"I don't think I follow, Mr. Stark. How can something like that be? I mean, anyone else and I'd think this was a prank, a setup. But we've met, Mr. Stark, and I know who you are. You were interested in Sue back before we married." Dibny's eyes were narrowed now, and he was staring at Stark.
"Ms. Dearborn may have been a conquest I pursued, but I was never successful. As I recall, she only had eyes for some penniless actor." Dibny's face scrunched up in rage.
"I should have felt my nose twitching. It always does when something bad happens. But that, that was too much. THAT WAS THE FINAL STRAW." He seethed with rage while Stark waited patiently and James wandered off to the patio to smoke a cigar.
"I'm sorry Mr. Dibny, for bringing her up. But back to my original offer, what if you could see into the minds of others. Fully controllable, fully understandable. What if you could know who would betray you. All it would take was a simple thought." Now Ralph was really confused.
"How, how is that possible?" Stark smiled at this.
"You will be injected with a nanite cloud. It will bond with your mind and nervous system, and spread out around you. Similar to another project I worked on, only this time, the nanites will read brain patterns. Easiest will, of course, be emotions. But with practice, you will be able to read minds." Stark didn't yet tell him about the third function, the colonization process, by which more complex nanites could be manufactured and sent into the minds of others, influencing their brain patterns. Thankfully he was immune to it all, and the nanites that powered Quinn and Howlett would make them highly resistant to that function. He wasn't sure about Grant. That had been an experiment, and for all he knew, the energy coursing through his body would repulse the things. It was certainly a theory. He turned back to Dibny, and waited for the man's answer.
Once a brilliant but betrayed actor, Ralph Dibny has shed his mistrust for others with his new powers of telepathy. Serving as a information specialist and public face for Stark's new initiative, Dibny's powers and style have earned him the moniker of Mastermind (though admittedly he has personally admitted that that particular distinction properly belonged to Stark)
Amazo/Flash Thompson
no write-up found