Next Best Thing
The Secret Origins Of The Adventures Of Archangel's Pals Songbird, Atlas, Jolt, Charcoal, Moonstone, And Hawkeye Muyo!: The Thunderbolts Of Steel In No Need For Action!

by Jim Smith

Episode #10! "It's a HELL of a town! (get it?)"

***

Trevor Fitzroy dressed like a fruitcake and had green hair.

There just wasn't any getting around it. You met the man, the first thing you noticed was that his hair was bright green. Then you noticed that, instead of attempting to divert attention from his condition, he sported a silly vandyke and dressed himself to party like it was 1799.

Fitzroy was a member of the Hellfire Club--an organization devoted to the hedonistic pursuits of the social elite. Most members of the Hellfire Club were fabulously rich, and only dropped by the Club's Victorian mansion for one of its lavish parties. Fitzroy was different--he was in the Hellfire Club because he had green hair.

Throughout the Club's 350 years of existence, an "inner circle" of its most influential members controlled its activities. With the rise of superhumans in society, that circle came to be populated by mutants--representatives of the next step in human evolution. While other mutant factions such as the X-Men and the Brotherhood fought melodramatic battles to decide whether their kind would dominate humanity, the Inner Circle preferred to conquer the world from the shadows, stealthily amassing financial power from their connections within the Club. As such, to join the Inner Circle, all Trevor Fitzroy needed was his green hair, an ability to manifest wormholes in time and space, and a willingness to follow the orders of the presiding King and Queen.

The members of the Inner Circle were the collective life of the Hellfire Club's parties, and had to have a certain flair to live up to that reputation. According to their rank, they took the names of chess pieces--kings, queens, bishops, pawns, and so on. To the best of Fitzroy's knowledge, there hadn't been a Black or White Pawn in the Hellfire Club since 1793. Then again, he himself was the "White Rook," which amounted to being the next best thing to a pawn. That was probably why he had to do all the work.

"Yes...yes...I understand that you'll be unable to attend..." He struggled to get a word in edgewise; the voice on the other end of the phone was fairly disagreeable. "Yes...mmhmm...I'm sure the Black Queen made you quite an 'offer,' Mister DaCosta,* but at the moment she's currently...unavailable--

[* See if X-FORCE #94, if you feel like it.]

"I'm not asking you to believe me. The point is that the Inner Circle is in...disarray at this point. We're hoping to have it all cleared up after the Festival of Sin later this week, but until then we simply can't accept any new petitions...to...to..."

Fitzroy's eyes came into focus as he stopped staring into space and started staring at the pair of legs propped up on his desk. For a moment he let his gaze wander, moving along the thighs until he reached the rather immodest skirt of the woman sitting before him. It was then that his fairly decadent thoughts were interrupted by a small detail--the only chair in Fitzroy's office was the one he was sitting in. Jarred by his logic, he suddenly noticed that the woman was reclining in mid-air, smiling at him as if to say "Just figured it out, mm?" Instinctively he glanced to the door--momentarily curious about how she had invaded the room so easily--only to discover that it was still locked and secured, as he'd left it.

"I phased through the walls, if you're wondering," the five-foot-eleven blonde noted, still sitting effortlessly in a nonexistent seat. "I'm Dr. Karla Sofen," she announced, "and I want to join your little cabal..."

Fitzroy looked straight into her eyes, dumbfounded by her brazenness. After a moment he put the phone back to his ear. "I'm...going to have to call you back..."

***

It was a homecoming of sorts for the Thunderbolts; the team hadn't been in New York City since the revelation that the would-be superheroes were in fact notorious supervillains. As Melissa Gold walked down the busy sidewalks of Fifth Avenue, she kept turning her head to see if anyone had recognized her as Songbird. The last time she was in Manhattan, that would have meant a mob of fans; this time, it would mean a mob, period.

Warren Worthington hadn't been a Thunderbolt in those days, but he had also left some unfinished business in the Big Apple. Archangel joined Songbird and her teammates during a trip out west, which he'd taken to avoid his lover, Betsy Braddock. What complicated matters was Warren and Betsy's affiliation with the X-Men, and their tendency to get drawn into all sorts of bizarre adventures. Case in point: While Betsy had disappeared and the X-Men searched for her, he and the Thunderbolts were getting drawn into the Hellfire Club's machinations.

"If you're so sure they want to kill us," Melissa asked Warren as they made their way along the stores, "Why are we going shopping?"

"Because the Hellfire Club set a trap for us," he explained. "Those demons we fought in Oklahoma were expecting us, and the arsons they committed formed the shape of the Club's pitchfork symbol--pointing us straight to their headquarters. They waiting for us to see what they're doing, and that means they have a plan to deal with us when we show up."

"But why do they want us so bad in the first place?"

"We won't know that unless we fall into the trap," Warren replied. "It's like I told you all on the way over--it's like a chess game with the Hellfire Club. They wouldn't have let us stumble onto their activities unless they were one move ahead of us, so we have to stay two moves ahead of them."

"By shopping."

"By playing along. I inherited membership in the club from my father--they know I'll try to use that to our advantage. And if I'm going to show up at the Festival of Sin, my date needs to wear something more formal than the stuff we packed for this trip."

Melissa blinked. "Date?" Before she could wrap her mind around the concept, Warren was pulling her into one of Fifth Avenue's more expensive shops.

***

Elsewhere on Fifth Avenue, Earth's mightiest heroes often convened at Avengers Mansion--much to Hawkeye's disdain. When he had left the Avengers to find his own destiny as the Thunderbolts' leader, he'd never imagined that he would end up tackling a crime ring just a few blocks away from his old stomping grounds. He kept picturing Captain America or the Wasp running into him on the street and saying "Why did you come all the way over here, Clint? You could have just called and let us handle it." Well, he might answer, reporting crooks to the Avengers might earn the Thunderbolts a reputation for being good guys, but they had to fight their own battles if they were ever going to be legends. And Clint Barton wanted that more than anything.

"What is it you want out of life, Mister...ah...Clinton?" The Hellfire Club's personnel department was run by a chubby, unimpressive fellow named Travis, who didn't look at all like he worked for the world's most auspicious clique. He asked Hawkeye this question as he pored over the archer's largely fake resume.

"Ennh, call me Bart," he began. (Hawkeye would be the first to admit that he sucked at coming up with aliases.) "Wunna these days I'm gonna score enough money to sit around lettin' my ass grow the rest of my life. Till then, I ain't got much...ambition 'r whatever. I need some money, and I got the muscle to be a bouncer at this dump."

Travis sneered. "We hardly employ bouncers, Mister Clinton," he retorted. "As a security constable for the Hellfire Club, you'll be expected to deal with...troublemakers...in an orderly and discreet manner. What about you, Mister Erikson?"

"What he said," Erik Josten added. (Atlas would be the next to admit that Hawkeye sucked at aliases.)

Hawkeye noticed that Erik was determined to answer these stupid questions as quickly and tersely as possible. He couldn't blame the big man, but it'd be worth this hassle if they could pull off their little scheme. Archangel assured him that the Thunderbolts would never be able to infiltrate the Hellfire Club's "Festival of Sin" (or whatever they called it), disguised as invited guests.* So Hawkeye built a better mousetrap--while two Thunderbolts attended the affair waiting to be ambushed by the guards, two more Thunderbolts would _be_ the guards. He could picture the front page of the Daily Bugle--"THUNDERBOLTS MORE...MUCH MORE THAN MEETS THE EYE! Hawkeye Leads Ex-Criminals in Rout of Corrupt Hellfire Club...Captain America Calls Hero's Strategy 'Frigging Brilliant,' see page A2."

[* Yeah, that trick _never_ works! See UNCANNY X-MEN #132, X-MEN #29, or FANTASTIC FOUR 1999.]

"I see..." Travis mused over the two prospectful employees. "Well, you both seem to have the necessary experience for a position on a standard security force. But the Hellfire Club requires...how do I want to put this...we don't like to advertise the complexity of our operations..."

Hawkeye grimaced. They'd put so much effort into concealing their superheroic personas that they actually looked underqualified to work for a supercriminal enterprise. Hawkeye's headline started to look a little different. "PATHETIC THUNDERBOLTS ATTEMPT UNDERCOVER MISSION--FALL FLAT ON FACES. Idiots Can't Even Complete First Step in Daring Plan...Captain America Says 'These Fuzznuts Couldn't Sneak into the South Pole if They Were Disguised as Snow,' see page..."

He was still trying to decide if the story would be buried in the classifieds or the funny pages when Atlas spoke up. "If it's mercenaries you want, I spent a few years in the army until I got caught in some smuggling rings, did some merc jobs with Bart towards the end of the Cold War..."

Travis raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" he asked, a bit skeptically.

"In Europe. You ever heard of Count Nefaria?"

"Er...yes..."

"Bart slugged him one time," Erik went on, gesturing to Clint.

"I...see..." Travis remarked. "Why don't you two come with me and we'll get you some stockings..."

A safe distance behind him, Atlas muttered to Hawkeye. "Stockings?"

"I may not know as much about the Inner Circle as Angel does, but if you'd lived on Fifth Avenue as long as I have, you'd know even the guards dress like kooks when these guys throw a party," Hawkeye replied. "Anyways, that was good work, coming up with that stuff on the fly, Erik."

"Uh, well...most of it's kinda true, Hawk..." Atlas shrugged. "I did some work with the Maggia way back when..."

That gave Hawkeye pause. There was much about his team that he still didn't know...things the Avengers case studies didn't explore. "Maybe," he rebutted, "but I can't remember ever smackin' Nefaria around, that's for sure..."

"It woulda been cool if you had," Erik Josten smirked.

***

"No, no, no, you imbecile!" Trevor Fitzroy sometimes lashed out at others in an attempt to cope with the traumatic experience of dressing like a fruitcake and having green hair.

In this case, he was somewhat justified, since the interior decorator he'd contracted had made an incredible mistake. "When I said I wanted a star in the center of the ballroom, I _meant_ a _pentagram_, you moron!" He gestured to the six-pointed star design in the recently-installed carpet. "_Five_ points! _Not_ six!"

"But...but, Mr. Fitzroy," the timid man pleaded, "I simply didn't know how to incorporate a five-pointed star into the overall design without--"

"You don't know _how_?" Fitzroy roared. "Tomorrow night, when the full moon reaches its apex, the lights in the ballroom will be dimmed, and the skylight--which cost as much to install as you make in ten years--will spring open and let a moonbeam down onto the floor, right onto that symbol. Do you know _why_ I want it that way?"

"Er...not exactly, sir..."

"Because it's called the 'Festival of Sin,' you simpleton! I named it after a Babylonian moon god, I spent months making sure I could schedule it according to the lunar cycle, and the pinnacle of the evening is supposed to be an outlandish display of ersatz pagan debauchery! Except _you_ seem to think it should be a big, kinky Rosh Hashanah!"

"But...why does it _have_ to be a five-pointed star?"

Fitzroy shook his head and rubbed his temples. "Look," he began again, slowly. "If I _must_ look it up..." With one swift motion he pulled the decorator towards himself, and an eerie green glow enveloped the man as Fitzroy used his mutant powers to drain his life force. In moments the pathetic corpse fell from his hand to the ground, and the White Rook channeled the ill-gotten energy into creating a portal, through which he retrieved the dictionary in his office.

"Here we are...'sin.' It's pronounced 'siiiin,' just so you know. '1., the breaking of divine or moral law, especially by a conscious act. 2., an offense against good taste or propriety, et cetera.' So you see, I'd prefer the pentagram because it is a popular representation of evil, whereas the hexagram is more commonly associated with a major religion. Although I suppose technically the five-pointed star hearkens back to pagan traditions before early Christian attempts to discredit competing faiths..." He finally looked away from the book and down to the dead body at his feet. "But I suppose that doesn't make any difference to you _now_, does it? Now I'll have to hire a new decorator _and_ get this mess cleaned up..."

A laser blast did most of the work for him, quickly reducing the dead body to a small pile of ash. Fitzroy looked to his right and saw a slim, lithe hand sticking out of the wall next to him...still glowing with the power it had just emitted. The rest of Karla Sofen soon phased through the wall to meet him. "I'm ever so helpful, you know," she quipped.

Fitzroy did his best to look unimpressed this time. "Karla Sofen, also known as Moonstone, but perhaps most notoriously known as 'Meteorite,' the name you adopted to fool the world into believing you and your cohorts were superheroes. Your criminal record before that caper was...unremarkable, and your attempts to reform alongside your fellow Thunderbolts is regarded as, shall we say, insincere at best. And you think my sponsorship into the Hellfire Club because...?"

"You checked your facts," Sofen said in a seeming non-sequitur. "I'm amazed. You mutants usually seem too...self-absorbed as a subspecies to worry about us 'mere humans.' I was always astonished that the X-Men--or the Hellfire Club, for that matter--never once tried to stop the Thunderbolts' imposture--I suppose you were too busy evolving..."

He ignored the unflattering comments. "Archangel and...Songbird, is it?...have been sighted on Fifth Avenue. Hawkeye and...the large one--"

"Atlas..."

"--Whatever--dropped by to seek employment in our security detail."

"Just as I told you," she noted.

"And just as I would have dealt with, with or without your help," Fitzroy snorted. "I still don't see why you think you're in a position to bargain with me. I can have your entire team killed at any time..."

"But that isn't what you want, is it?"

Fitzroy furrowed his brow at Sofen. "What, pray tell, _do_ I want?"

"Don't be coy," she smiled. "If you wanted any of us dead, you would have let the Clan D'dl'lh continue to fight us in Oklahoma. Instead they retreated--just as soon as we were all gathered together to pick up on all their cute little clues. You want the Thunderbolts alive, Fitzroy--at least, until they fall into this trap you've set for them."

"For all of you," the White Rook corrected, "unless you haven't noticed whose side your on."

"Except that you know I must not be especially loyal to the team, and _I_ know you're curious about the proposal I have to make. Otherwise we wouldn't be standing here." She could see from his expression that he was impressed with her assessment of him, but impatient to hear her offer. "As you were saying, to the point: I'll hand you the Thunderbolts for a place in the Inner Circle."

"That's the second time you've suggested that I should induct you into the Club, woman. If you're so smart, you should understand that the Hellfire Club is an obscenely exclusive organization, and the Inner Circle even more--"

"Spare me, Fitzroy. I have had...colleagues that have told me all about the Club. The Thunderbolts just know whatever they've heard from Archangel. I, on the other hand, know that the Inner Circle was left in disarray after the Upstarts overthrew Sebastian Shaw. You helped coordinate that little affair, weren't you, Trevor? And yet, after everything you did to Shaw and Selene, they let you into the Inner Circle almost as soon as they recaptured control of the Club.

"What that tells me is that there's a schism in the Inner Circle. There's no reason for Shaw or Selene to trust you--unless one is hoping you pose a greater threat to the other. Therefore, The Black King and Queen are engaged in a power struggle for control of the club--nothing else could be so important as to risk an association with an enemy such as you--and you answer to only one of them. Now, if I can figure all of this out from the outside looking in, don't you think your boss can use someone like me on the inside, to win your little civil war?"

Fitzroy said nothing for several moments, stroking his bright green beard thoughtfully. "If I'm going to entertain your suggestions, I'll need to ensure your commitment."

"Then let me kill the Thunderbolts for you," Moonstone suggested helpfully. "If I were acting as a double agent, it wouldn't do me any good to get on the inside if my team was dead."

"Perhaps..." he considered. "But this...initiation would have to be done very specifically. Come with me," he offered his arm, and she wrapped hers around it as he led her down a hallway. "I'll explain in a more secure location..."

***

"It's an interesting little story, Hawkeye--assuming Fitzroy's telling the truth."

"This isn't a time to go assumin', Moonstone." Hawkeye spoke into his radio, pacing back and forth in the posh hotel room Archangel reserved for the Thunderbolts. "This mook's powers are lethal--and they may work just as well on bulletproof superwomen as they do on us plain ol' mortal Hawkeyes. Is he convinced you'll deliver us on a silver platter?"

"What do _you_ think...Clint?"

He could hear the wicked smile on her face as she answered. "Point taken," he replied.

"Archangel's information is mostly accurate," Moonstone continued. "After Onslaught attacked Manhattan, Sebastian Shaw regained control of the Hellfire Club from his son and the upstarts. He and the Black Queen began consolidating their power base and restructuring the Inner Circle and that's when Selene brought in Fitzroy and a woman named Pryor. Then Pryor began cozying up to Shaw..."*

[* As seen in more issues of X-MAN than you'd really want to look at.]

"This is where it got interesting, huh?"

"The Black King and Queen of the Inner Circle are supposed to at least act like consorts, so Shaw might as well have declared war on Selene. Selene apparently began to draw the club into the occult; recently she tried to install some demon as the Black King--call it a proportional response to Shaw's dalliance with Pryor. Someone probably would have been killed by now, but the Fantastic Four and a couple of mystical types stumbled onto Selene's plans to steal the souls of the Hellfire Club's patronage. They imprisoned Selene and an entire section of the club's mansion into the realm of this demon..."**

[** In the less-than-classic FANTASTIC FOUR 1999 annual.]

"Which demon?" Hawkeye interrupted

"Blackheart, I think? Who cares--?"

"You'd better care, Karla--that guy's the son of Mephisto. If he's the one behind the Clan D'dl'lh..."

"Apparently he's Big Daddy D'dl'lh. Blackheart himself is stuck in his domain with Selene, but they've managed to send these demons to Earth to contact Fitzroy and those in the Club who are loyal to their faction. According to Fitzroy, the D'dl'lhs have a plan to retrieve Blackheart and Selene by sprinkling our blood over a summoning circle during the full moon."

"Okayyyy...that explains the timing of this shindig. I think." As much as he demanded that Moonstone take the situation seriously, Hawkeye barely understood this sort of paranormal business himself. "So why do we get to be the guests of honor?"

"Fitzroy wasn't sure--the D'dl'lhs haven't told him everything. His job has primarily been to whip up this 'Festival of Sin' so there'll be plenty of partygoers present so Blackheart can devour their souls..."

"I get the gist," he concluded. "All right...stay with Fitzroy, Karla. The rest of us can only keep the Inner Circle on their toes for so long. We need them to think you're their ace in the hole--the longer they think you're betraying us, the better."

***

"Oh, I'm sure I can keep them convinced indefinitely, Hawkeye...Moonstone out." She ended the transmission and turned away from the corner of the room, searching for a sign of satisfaction for her performance. "How was that?"

"Most effective, Dr. Sofen." Sebastian Shaw smiled at his prospective ally from the other end of his office. "I must commend your duplicity--you're in a position to align yourself with either the Thunderbolts or that bastard Fitzroy."

She smiled back. "It's the safest position to be in...sir. Of course, I didn't have to come to you with this information, but I knew you would be...grateful for what I have to offer you. The Thunderbolts and Selene's followers each think I'm their advantage against the other. They'll nearly destroy one another waiting for me to rush to their sides...and that's when you can destroy them all. The police will assume Selene's faithful were the random victims of a band of sociopathic outlaws--who won't be around to debate that conclusion. You and the Hellfire Club look like innocent survivors of a terrible tragedy, Selene remains imprisoned in Blackheart's realm..."

"And I suppose it's convenient for you that the Inner Circle will need a powerful new applicant to compensate for this...purge." The red-haired beauty atop Shaw's lap was one of the Hellfire Club's better-kept secrets. Madeline Pryor, after all, was supposed to be dead--and extremely dangerous in any other state. As the Black Rook she held little official power in the Club--as a woman she didn't need any. She stared into Moonstone like some jealous pet inspecting a new kitten. "Her deceit is genuine, Sebastian, but even in her mind her allegiance to anyone but herself is unclear. She knows too much about us...I don't trust her."

"Oh, you shouldn't trust me, Ms. Pryor," Sofen stared back. "I have...acquaintances, let's say...who know far more about you than I particularly cared to ask..."

Shaw furrowed his heavy brow and smirked confidently. "I don't have to trust her, my dear Madeline," he interrupted, stroking his consort's chin. "The Inner Circle is ruled through power, not trust. Once Dr. Sofen deals with the traitorous element within our midst, we can decide how the power will be distributed among the three of us."

"Of course, my king." Moonstone genuflected and approached him. "And when the Thunderbolts and Fitzroy are rotting in hell alongside Selene, will you choose a new queen?"

Shaw's smile grew wider. "Come now, Karla...surely in your research you discovered that I may have two..."

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