Ch. 4 - Eureka!
Strange Visitor: Iron Before Steel
Chapter 4 – Eureka!
May 29th, 2009 – LexCorp Regional Office, Formerly Company HQ – Chicago, IL
“… and to that end, in keeping with a spirit of solidarity with our friends and competitors over at Stark Industries, I would like to announce that, effective immediately, LexCorp will no longer be accepting any new weapon or defense contracts.”
The crowd of reporters exploded in a frenzy, this path being the last they had expected from a Luthor when one of his biggest rivals showed such severe vulnerability in their business. Usually, it would be announced that they had either bought out their competition or were about to step into whatever role had just been vacated.
Hands shot into the air, and questions roared out of the mouths of the journalists in attendance at the hastily-called press conference. It was pure pandemonium for a few moments as Lex Luthor laughed at the response he alone had been expecting. He quickly waved his hands, attempting to regain control of the raucous crowd, before pointing at a dark-haired correspondent on the crowd's edge.
“I’ll now take a few questions before I have to head to my next meeting. You, Miss…?”
“Lois Lane, Chicago Daily Star. Mr. Luthor, Stark Industries has taken a beating on Wall Street since announcing its own weapons moratorium. Does the LexCorp board support this new direction?” The smirk on the woman’s face indicated she thought the answer was probably different from the response she was about to receive.
Lex smiled at the enthusiastic and slightly sarcastic young reporter. “An excellent question, Ms. Lane. I have discussed this in-depth with the board over the last week, and I have their full confidence in the matter. We expect a similar reaction to what’s occurred at Stark Industries over the past couple of weeks, but we aren’t going “cold turkey” like they did. We will complete the current contracts we have already accepted for the military unless we can find another company willing to take them off our hands, with our client’s permission, of course.”
Lex’s expression grew serious at that. “Tony Stark is probably the best weapons maker in the history of this nation if not all of history. We here at LexCorp have a much more diversified portfolio than SI does, so this won’t affect us in quite as dramatic a fashion as it did in Malibu. However, I’d like to say that what Mr. Stark has done is quite simply heroic. He’s thrown all caution to the wind for the most righteous of causes, and I, for one, must express my genuine admiration for the man. I haven’t found my crusade yet, but I hope that I might stoke the flames of my inspiration by following in Tony's footsteps.”
After his impromptu speech, another reporter jumped on the pause to shout, “What would your father think of this newfound social responsibility?”
Lex laughed out loud at that, which got quite a few of the older reporters laughing right along.
“Well, that’s a pretty good question as well, and judging by the laughter out there, some of you could pretty much type up what his response would be word for word. Let’s just say that my father’s quote would be unprintable, to use a generous term.”
Several more reporters were able to get in a few more follow-up questions before Lex Luthor thanked them all for their time and for giving him a platform to make a difference in the world. He then begged off to make his next meeting and wished them a good day.
Briskly walking away from the front steps of his building’s entrance, he couldn’t help but smile as his personal security escort fell into step next to him.
“Well, Mercy, I think that went quite well, don’t you?”
The serious woman to his left shrugged and gave him a side glance as her head swiveled about to assess potential threats to her employer.
“You don’t pay me to think. What does it matter if it did or didn’t go well? You’ve decided and rarely change course once you’ve done that.”
Lex shook his head, a soft chuckle escaping with a sigh as the two approached his car.
“Mercy, I value your opinion more than most. Of course, what you think matters! Besides, getting new ventures off on the right foot is always good. It helps sell the idea if people are more willing to follow you at the start. I’ll bet Otis here doesn’t mind telling me what he thinks, do you, Otis?”
Lex smiled at his heavy-set driver, who beamed back a smile that screamed sincerity and perhaps a slight lack of intelligence.
“Oh, you did great, Mista Luthor! You really had them all eatin’ outta the palm of yer hand! It’s mighty swell of ya to make the world a better place and all. There’s just too many guns out there! When I was a kid, if you had a problem wit someone, you hit ‘em! And that was that! Didn’t need any guns to take care of ourselves. I think you’re a class act, Mista Luthor. It’s a real privilege drivin' you around.”
Lex flashed a smile toward the rearview mirror but a side-eye at his Chief of Security in the backseat.
“I truly appreciate that, Otis. It’s a load off my mind to get the opinion of the everyman on the street, as it were. I’m glad I’ve got your confidence and support.” He raised an eyebrow at Mercy.
She rolled her eyes and kept the same even expression she was well known for, and only muttered under her breath, “His opinion is about as valuable as a gift card loaded with as many dollars as he has IQ points.”
Lex choked on his drink, trying not to laugh at Mercy’s statement. Thankfully, Otis couldn’t hear from the front.
“Yes, well, be that as it may, I’ve had something of an inspiration already. Mercy, can you please call Miss Tessmacher in New York and tell her that I’d like to start planning a little meeting between myself and a few of my contemporaries? I’d prefer it to be in person if possible, but since the three I’ve got in mind are scattered across the country, that may not be in the cards. Here’s what I want her to do…”
____________________________________________
May 30th, 2009
28 Prospect Park West - Brooklyn, New York
Clark Kent’s House
“Not gonna lie, man. It’s hilarious that you’re a Dodgers fan ‘cause they’re your hometown childhood team. They’ve been gone from Brooklyn for more than fifty years, you old bastard. Damn, I guess you’ve been gone longer than that, huh? Weird.”
Pete Ross flopped down onto the couch in the living room and set the large bowl of fresh popcorn on the coffee table in front of him. He stretched his right foot out to rest it on the table before a sharp smack on his left leg caused him to jerk the appendage back into the air.
“What are you, an animal? Keep your foot off the table, will ya? And popcorn? That’s your idea of a snack for a ballgame? Seriously, what is wrong with people today? It’s peanuts: peanuts and Cracker Jack for a baseball game. Popcorn is for a night at the movies or on a date with a gorgeous dame. Amateur.”
Pete just looked at Bucky Barnes from the other end of the couch they shared in front of the large-screen television.
“… you are so goddamn old it’s painful.”
Barnes answered by throwing a handful of popcorn at Pete, who promptly laughed and began eating it.
“How’d you end up a Cubs fan? I thought you were from near St. Louis or something.”
“I’m an Army brat. Dad was from, like, Virginia or something; I’m not even sure. The Washington Senators stopped being a thing more than ten years before I was born, so Dad didn’t have them to follow anymore. He didn't have a team when he settled down in the Midwest. Clark inherited the Northsiders from his Pa, so I just kinda picked them up, too, when he and I buddied up. Everyone wins.”
“The Senators didn’t.”
“Ha! That’s funny. Get this: the original Senators folded in 1960 and moved to Minnesota to become the Twins. That same year, a new expansion team was created to take their place. And they ended up moving to Texas to become the Rangers in the ‘70s! How funny is that? Long as you aren’t a Washington sports fan.”
“Man. People get rid of everything now. Everything is disposable. No wonder the world is going to shit.”
“Yeah, yeah, Grampa. Money ain’t what it used to be, the music is too loud, and young people use curse words! I should ask Kelex to record this shit! Haha!”
“… shut up, punk. The game’s starting.”
Pete continued to chuckle at his elderly pal as the TV broadcast started.
“Ugh. Joe Buck and Tim McCarver. Could Fox possibly try and piss off Chicago fans anymore for a game of the week? This is ridiculous.”
Barnes didn’t seem to care about Pete’s disappointment with the game’s broadcast team.
“Those names mean nothing to me.”
Pete took it in stride. “Fair. The old guy was a player for the Cardinals and Phillies. As a Cubs fan, I hate him 'cause he’s a homer.”
“Homer?”
“Means he doesn’t call the action fair if his team is involved.”
“That’s how they always did it. Not that we could tell in Brooklyn. The owners here wouldn’t let the teams on the radio until just before the war. Thought it would hurt attendance. Stevie and I snuck into games all the time, but we stayed home and listened to that first broadcast in ‘39. It was Leo Durocher’s first game as a player and manager. We lost that game seven to three. I can still hear Red Barber’s voice on the air.”
Pete watched as James Barnes lost himself in the past for a few moments, remembering a day long gone as if it was just yesterday. Pete couldn’t help but smile a little at the very human reaction of the veteran soldier unwillingly turned assassin.
“Hey, get this – Stevie and I found out later that a photographer dropped a flash bulb in the press box at the start of the game, and they had to carefully pull glass outta Red Barber’s mouth. His partner in the booth had to cover for him at first pitch. No cuts though, somehow.”
Barnes laughed then. Full-throated, something Pete hadn’t seen in the four months since Clark had hidden the man here.
“Stevie was heartbroken when they lost – took it personally. He always felt too damn much for his own good. He got into more than one scrape over the years with Yankee and Giant fans for talking garbage. We loved sneaking into Ebbets Field when we were little enough to get away with it and old enough to know better. It was right over there, across the park,” Barnes pointed out of the front window, though the curtains were currently drawn (as they always were with Barnes and his metal arm hidden within).
Pete waited a minute, letting the man bask in the memories for a few more moments before finally breaking the silence between them.
“I don’t know about you, GI Jim, but the only thing better than peanuts, Crackerjack, and popcorn at a ballgame is an ice-cold beer. Why don’t you give me a hand and grab us a couple outta the fridge?” Pete smiled at the thinly veiled barb that he’d tossed at his fellow amputee and didn’t wait long for the response he expected.
“Sounds good to me, punk. Why don't you run into the kitchen and grab them yourself, though?”
The two quickly shared a look, eye to eye, before both dissolved into laughter, the game momentarily forgotten as it approached the time for the first pitch.
Pete gave in first and climbed to his feet. “Fine, I know how hard it is on you old timer’s knees to be getting up and down all day. I may only have one, but it's in way better shape than yours, I bet.” He smiled as he took a swipe at the back of Barnes’ head as he walked behind him, quickly dodging the metal-handed swipe that came back.
“Watch it, T-100! Or next time I threaten to kick your ass, it’ll be with my metal foot!”
Barnes grinned as Pete continued into the kitchen, hearing the game behind him go to its final commercial before its start, the theme song for Fox Sports blaring as he left the room.
After a quick search of the refrigerator, he realized that there was, in fact, no beer at all in the house unless there were still a few in the small fridge he kept in his room. Pete sighed as he closed the appliance door, not relishing a walk up two flights of stairs.
But then he remembered Kelex was doing robot things on Clark’s laptop upstairs. She called it research and recon, but he personally thought she was just playing on the internet. It was worth a quick shout to see if she could check and bring them down.
“Hey! Keely girl! Can you float up to my room for a moment and see if there’s still any beer in my fridge?” He waited a moment to see if there was a response, which another moment later there was.
A metallic yet melodic voice chimed down that she would be happy to assist.
Yes! Always wanted an Omnibot when I was a kid. Kelex ain’t a bad consolation prize.
Pete continued back into the living room, passing by Bucky as he moved back toward his seat at the end of the couch.
“We may be outta luck with that beer, buddy. Nada in the fridge down here, but Kelex is checking up in my room just in case.”
He glanced over at Barnes, who he noticed was no longer smiling. He didn’t appear to be in a good mood whatsoever. The man’s jaw was clenched so tight that Pete was afraid he might crack his teeth, while the rest of his body appeared to be just as tense. He was almost vibrating in place. Each muscle seemed to strain as if 10,000 volts of electricity were running through him. The man’s eyes were glued to the television set, where a local car dealership was championing their low, low prices.
At that point, Bucky dropped his head to his chest and muttered something in another language Pete didn’t know.
“Ya goat overtat? The hell does that mean? Yo, Barnes. You okay, man?”
There was no response as the commercial ended, and without so much as a sound, Barnes immediately stood up.
“Bucky? Hey, man. What the hell…” Barnes continued without a glance toward him, rounding the couch before he began to make a beeline for the front door. Pete quickly pushed himself off the sofa and hobbled to his own feet. Being closer to the door on his end of the couch, he quickly stepped in between the advancing Barnes and what appeared to be an escape attempt.
Pete reached out to put a hand on Bucky’s chest, trying again to get his attention, when a metal hand snapped up, grabbed him by the wrist, and yanked sharply to Pete’s right. If it hadn’t been for his special forces training, there may have been some torn ligaments in his elbow or shoulder, but Pete turned the fall into a roll with a twist of his body. He ended up lying on his side, perpendicular to Barnes as the soldier turned back toward the door.
Pete screamed out a sharp call to their artificial chaperone.
“Kelex!! Get your metal butt down here now!" Pete didn’t wait for rescue, though. From the floor on his side, he snapped his right leg out in a sweeping kick that caught Barnes unaware just before he got out of reach.
The surprise kick took the super soldier off his feet, landing hard on his flesh and blood shoulder. Pete was struggling back to his feet using the couch as leverage when Barnes quickly flipped back up. He spun in place, still crouching, as his eyes met Pete’s from his spot a few feet away.
There was nothing behind the man’s eyes. The familiarity, humor, and relaxed, comfortable rapport they’d developed over the past months was completely gone. There was nothing in James Barnes' eyes now but anger and a focused gleam. Pete was… concerned.
Clark had warned him, hell, Barnes had warned him, that a killer was lurking somewhere under the surface. Until this moment, Pete hadn’t seen any part of it.
The Soldier closed the short distance between them almost before Pete could blink. He was just… there, on top of him. A quick punch with the man’s human arm slid off Pete's shoulder as he ducked. Unfortunately, that meant he was leaning to Bucky’s left, where his inhuman metal arm awaited.
If it had been a punch, Pete later realized he wouldn’t likely have survived, but instead the mindless (so they assumed) killer swept him aside like a child with the backhand of an artificial arm. Pete almost completely flipped end over end through the air before crashing back down onto a small wooden end table set against the back wall.
Pete was a soldier, too, though. He wasn’t willing to quit and let Hydra get their hooks back on a man who he’d come to think of as a friend over the past few months.
He grabbed the unbroken lamp that had been sitting on the table that had just been crushed by his fall and, with a jerk, ripped the cord out of the outlet nearby. He then whipped the lamp as hard as he could from a seated position at the soldier whose back was now facing him again. It crashed hard into the skull of the standing soldier, staggering him forward headfirst into the thick front door.
Yes! Stunned him.
Pete pressed his attack, scrambling forward on the ground as Barnes climbed to his feet. If he could get his balance and feet set, Pete knew he wouldn’t be able to stop him. Bucky turned, his back to the door, as Pete crawled toward him.
I can’t fight him fair. He’s too strong and fast. Gotta hit him hard where he won’t expect it.
Pete rolled forward from his position with his hands and knees on the floor as Barnes advanced at the same time. The Soldier had reached the point of no longer tolerating any of Pete’s shenanigans. He pulled the metal arm back as far as possible, preparing to unleash a devastating punch on the man now lying on his back on the floor below. Just before Barnes could throw his final haymaker, Pete thrust his leg out with as much force as possible… directly into Buck’s groin.
Not even a super soldier could easily ignore a full-force kick to his unprotected genitals.
Pete watched as a flash of agony clouded over Bucky’s eyes as they almost crossed in his grimace. It would have been almost funny in another situation, he idly thought.
Sorry, Barnes. The last desperate act of a beaten man. But it worked.
Correction: It worked for a moment. A look of fury replaced the pain and confusion far faster than Pete predicted. Even if Barnes were still in control now, he would be less likely to hold anything back. Pete only had time to mutter a quick “Well, shit…” before the Winter Soldier raised his foot above Pete’s head.
And was promptly blasted backward into the door with a flash of bluish-white energy.
Electricity sizzled in the air, and Pete got a whiff of ozone as he watched Barnes convulse in spasms as his muscles fought the energy coursing through them.
A second blast sent the man to the ground and into blissful unconsciousness.
Kelex floated into view above him before her voice broke the only sound of his panting from the floor. “Are you injured, Peter Ross? It would appear that Mr. Barnes has had a… relapse, of sorts.”
Pete flashed the concerned droid a smile and a big thumbs up. “I am golden, girl. You rock, by the way. You get full marks for timing. Well done.”
Kelex hovered over Barnes, a flash of strobing light fanning out of one of her hands and sweeping over the splayed figure beneath her. After several seconds of scanning, she appeared satisfied with his condition and returned to Pete, still panting on the floor.
“The former Sergeant will remain in his subdued condition for several hours. Even factoring in his advanced healing properties. Do you require assistance, Peter Ross?”
“I do not. Thank you. Ima just lay here for a bit.”
“Can you explain what caused James Barnes to attempt to harm you?”
“No! I got no clue, K. We were sitting on the couch makin’ fun of each other, like usual, waiting for the ballgame to start. I got up to get us some beers, that’s when I called you, and when I got back to my seat, he was all quiet. He was staring at the TV. Didn’t say a damn thing, just got up and started running for the door! Wait... no, he said something in some other language. European of some kind, I think. Maybe Russian.”
Kelex turned her faceplate toward the screen against the wall. She slowly floated toward it.
“Fascinating. I am detecting a signal.”
“A signal? From the TV?"
“Yes. More specifically, a signal within the broadcast itself. It is bleeding through, underneath the primary signal – your game.”
“What is it saying?”
“It is a repeating message. It continues through the broadcast of this station,” she grasped the remote and quickly cycled through several different channels. “It is on over half of the channels I have looked at. It begins with a string of ten unconnected words, and then it is followed by a short command. ‘Asset Recall Protocol invoked. Return to base immediately. Let none stop you.’ That is the entirety of the message. It then repeats the string of ten words: longing, rusted, seventeen, daybreak, furnace, nine, benign, homecoming, one, freight car.”
Pete was silent for a moment before he spoke. “Hydra. It’s gotta be Hydra calling him back. They hadn't been able to find him any other way, and they got desperate. They wanted him back, and they sent this out across the damn country. Maybe even the world.”
“It does appear to have been an ambitious effort indeed.”
“Call Clark. Tell him we need him home now.”
____________________________________________
June 6th, 2009
Stark Residence – Malibu, California
“I’ll be honest, Stark. I didn’t expect an invite to your living room when I suggested this meeting. A conference room in the office would have more than sufficed,” Lex Luthor grinned at his contemporary as they sat across from each other in the older man’s luxurious home.
Stark flashed his trademark smirk. “Turns out, I’m more of a homebody than I ever expected these days. Might have something to do with the kidnapping and torture, but it could also be my hatred of fluorescent lighting.”
“Well, I hate to impose on your hospitality more than need be, so I’ll get straight to the point. I’ve asked the four of us here to discuss something I’ve been mulling over lately. Tony, you’ve set the world on a new and unexpected path by pulling out of the weapons and munition business completely. You’ve also managed to upset quite a few people in the process. Kudos for that, by the way.
Stark snorted at that, never one to disagree when someone stroked his ego.
“They weren’t happy to hear me pull the same thing just a short time later. Now, someone else will step into that vacuum we’ve created, but in all modesty, between our two intellects, it won’t be a complete replacement. Ted, I know you’ve passed on several military projects in the past month alone for your software to be used in missile and other weapon guidance systems.”
Ted Kord leaned forward on the comfortable settee he was perched on and pushed his thick glasses up more securely onto the bridge of his nose. “I’d rather make computers, phones, and games rather than use my money and gifts to make it easier to erase people off the face of the planet, if possible.”
Luthor nodded in agreement, turning to the fourth member of the quartet.
“I’ve never designed any weapon or system meant for offensive capability, but it doesn’t take a genius to modify many of my thruster designs and hull reinforcement technologies into something with military applications. I may be interested in helping humanity explore the stars in the future, but that doesn’t mean everyone else will,” Reed Richards volunteered with clinical efficiency.
Luthor spread his arms wide, letting the gesture be his agreement with the sentiments expressed by the others.
“I’d like you all to consider something a bit… revolutionary. Stark, your company’s stock price has taken a beating since your declaration. I know that most of the Stark Industries shares that have been sold off in a panic over the past month have been snapped up by the four men sitting here. That tells me that we all share at least some feeling of social responsibility for the greater good of our race as a whole. We’ve been hurtling along toward oblivion for decades if not centuries.”
Tony cocked his head to the side, listening attentively to what offer his guest was presenting.
“I suggest that the four of us start some sort of organization or company that we all fund equally. We each pledge to help move humanity in a more noble direction. We can focus on technologies to help advance our species instead of tearing each other apart. We can become, together, the prime example of what cooperation between so-called rivals can do.”
Luthor stood then, with a broad smile, as he reached out a hand toward the other three around him.
“Gentleman, join me and face the future together. A foundation for progress and advancement for the human race as a whole. What do you think?
____________________________________________
June 8th, 2009
28 Prospect Park West - Brooklyn, New York
Clark leaned on the small second-floor balcony outside his bedroom and looked out over his spacious backyard.
His head was lowered in shame, thinking of what had nearly happened just over a week earlier. He’d been spreading himself pretty thin lately, ranging farther and farther on his “patrols” into the surrounding states. He was routinely checking on cities as far as the Mississippi on some nights now, no longer satisfied with just watching out for New York City or even the eastern seaboard.
He couldn't keep watch everywhere, all the time, but he felt it was a good idea if no one could predict where he would be on a given night. It might make people look over their shoulders a bit more before they do something stupid if there was a chance that the Manhattan Marvel may happen to be in town. (Even if he didn't care for that name.)
And as a result, he’d lapsed looking for ways to help Bucky. He’d gone through every idea, but nothing seemed to be a possible solution.
Wakanda, where he had been healed in the films, was not an option. Shuri was too young to assist at this time, and T’Chaka was the King, so they would be far less than willing to engage in anything beyond their borders for years. Their technology would have been an enormous help, which was most unfortunate.
He couldn’t go to SHIELD or any other government agency for obvious reasons. Clark assumed every Hydra agent on the planet was looking for Bucky, so if he showed up on SHIELD’s radar or any other government agency they’d infiltrated (which was all of them), Hydra would know immediately.
There was little chance of going to a private psychologist or other mental health professional. The moment they discovered the circumstances behind Bucky’s issues, he was sure they would contact the government. He was also reasonably certain this would be beyond them anyway.
Clark looked up at the moon, shining brightly in the sky above Brooklyn. The large silver disk pulled at him. He could feel it. The moon pulled at him like a tide. It was an incredible feeling, one he couldn’t easily describe. Kelex had explained the details of Kryptonian physiology and their abilities and knew that this feeling was tied to his body developing the manifestation of its final ability.
It wouldn’t be much longer before Clark could soar through the skies. He would be able to manipulate gravity itself to his heart’s desire.
He shook away those thoughts. He needed to figure out how to help Bucky. The man had isolated himself in the basement once he came to after Kelex had zapped him. Thankfully, no one was genuinely hurt in the incident, but Barnes demanded they send him away - that he was too dangerous to keep around.
Clark had countered that it was precisely what Hydra wanted. They were counting on his guilt and the fear of anyone around the Winter Soldier to drive him back into their eager arms. Clark was committed to helping him avoid that fate.
He just couldn’t figure out how.
Clark gazed down at the only idea that seemed to have merit thus far. The large green crystal gleamed in the multitude of lights in his surroundings. Apartments, street lamps, headlights, and the full silver moon beaming into the night sky.
He ghosted his fingertips across the smooth facets of the crystal's surface. Its flawless texture soothed him as he considered what to do with it. He knew if he took it north, he could use it to create The Fortress. The quintessential home away from home for Superman. He could take it, toss it into the choppy waves of the Arctic Ocean (or any of them, to be technical), and watch as it formed the massive crystalline structure that would be a safe space for Clark and Kara for as long as they called the Earth their home.
Of course, it was improbable that it would go unnoticed in a world of satellite communications and highly advanced spy agencies. Clark dreaded what might happen if the world's nations saw a new landmass created out of nothing in a matter of moments.
There didn’t seem to be any other way, though. He had to do something. It wasn’t like he could reach into Bucky’s head and pull out the inform…
Holy shit.
Clark snapped to attention on the balcony as the thought struck him out of the blue. Clark couldn’t get into Bucky’s head, but he knew people who could. How the hell had this not occurred to him already? When in doubt, ask your friends for help.
And Clark had made some very powerful and versatile friends since his arrival, hadn’t he?
He rushed through the balcony doors, closing them behind him a bit less gently than he had intended, but whatever. He bounded down the hall and then the stairway, calling out to the other residents of the house as he did.
“Pete! Bucky! Kelex! Everyone get in here now; I’ve got it!”
Pete was lounged on the couch, his hand in a bag of Doritos, as he looked up in surprise at Clark. Kelex floated in directly from the kitchen, a single beer on a platter as she headed for Pete.
Really, Pete?
The basement door stayed closed momentarily as the others joined Clark in the dining room just off the kitchen. Clark called out again, and after another minute, the door opened. James Barnes looked out of the doorway with a curious expression across his furrowed brows.
“I’ve got it! I know where we can go to get Bucky some help! Pete, pack a bag. Buck, you too. You... should probably pack as much as you can carry, you might be gone for a little while. Kelex, you’re going too. I gotta run back to Metropolis and get the quinjet! I’ll be back in a few hours, but everyone be ready. I’ll call you when I get back and set down in a quiet corner of the park.”
Pete finally spoke up.
“Okay, I’ll bite. Where the hell are we taking him?”
“Pete, it’s time we finally both get to visit Lana upstate. I’ll call her and give her the heads up when I’m on my way back here. I’ll bet everything I own that Charles Xavier can fix whatever they’ve done to you, Bucky.”