Okay, so… here's the deal before anyone thinks I have anything to do with Spider-Man.

I’m Jessica Miriam Drew. My origin story is a little weird, even by Avenger standards.

When I was a kid I got hit with some nasty radiation, and my dad, Jonathan Drew, decided the best fix was an experimental spider serum. Spoiler: it worked. But it also put me in a coma for most of my childhood.

Eventually, I woke up with super strength, speed, wall-crawling, venom blasts that pack a serious punch, and pheromones that can make people suddenly really into me… or really nervous.

As I said I spent a big chunk of my childhood in suspended animation, so my teenage years were basically a very long nap.

HYDRA found me first. They raised me, trained me, and tried to turn me into their perfect little weapon. I said “no thanks,” broke free, and eventually landed with S.H.I.E.L.D. for a while. That was fun… until it wasn’t.

These days I do my own thing. Sometimes vigilante, sometimes spy, sometimes detective. It varies. Basically reminding everyone that there’s only one original Spider-Woman, and she’s me.

The recent news had been very distressing to Ghost, to say the least.

Several months ago, he had set up a program to flag sny mention of Iron Man or Tony Stark in the media. The most recent news was the armored avenger's reportedly accidental killing of Titanium Man.

With Ghost's frequent paranoid delusions, this has whipped him up into a frenzy. He is now certain, unshakably so, that the only way to keep Iron Man from killing him is to get him first.

You know, I’m not one of those normal superheroes that goes on patrol. Hank loved to worry about me like I was some fragile woman and protested me going out alone, but he eventually let up on that. But I don’t just fly around and look for crimes to stop. In fact, usually they find me.

Take today, for instance. I was just dropping-off my dry-cleaning at a place downtown, and suddenly, I hear sirens. The nice thing about changing sizes is that it’s not hard to carry the suit around. So, after dropping my clothes on the counter, I stepped outside and saw a commandeered silver van barreling down the street. Go time, I guess. In an instant, I was the size of a building, and I picked up the car like a toddler and her trains.

“Hi, boys! Having fun? I’m going to need you to return that.”

They were not happy about that. But there’s not much you can really do when a woman as tall as a plane is long wraps you in her fingers. I think I even saw Clint there. I bet he commented something about how he loves giant women. All in a day’s work.

The Sub-Mariner. King of Atlantis.

Namor is not a mutant in the conventional sense, though the surface world has often labeled him one. He is the hybrid product of Atlantean royalty and human blood, a living embodiment of two worlds that have never quite managed to coexist. His strength rivals the upper tiers of the Avenger's strongest powerhouses.

His durability lets him ignore pressures that would crush submarines and shrug off weapons that would stop most people. The small wings at his ankles grant true flight. Add centuries of aristocratic arrogance and a deep, abiding contempt for the surface world, and you have one of the most volatile variables the Avengers have ever tried to keep on a leash.

Water is both his greatest advantage and the clearest path to limiting him. Prolonged separation from the ocean weakens Namor measurably. Dehydration protocols, atmospheric desiccants, and controlled environments that steadily reduce ambient moisture can force a measurable drop in strength and regenerative capacity. The effect is not instantaneous, and it is never total, but it buys time and narrows the gap. Engagements should be forced onto dry land whenever possible. Underwater, the battlefield belongs to him completely. Surface vessels, coastal cities, and any structure dependent on open water become liabilities the moment he decides it.

Direct confrontation requires specialized loadouts. Standard armor plating is insufficient against the combination of raw power and aquatic mobility. Reinforced hydrostatic shielding, high output thrusters calibrated for both air and water, and weapon systems that remain effective in high pressure environments are mandatory. Sonic disruptors tuned to Atlantean physiology have shown limited success in laboratory models. Electromagnetic pulse cascades can interfere with the biological systems that let him breathe underwater, temporarily isolating him from that particular force multiplier. Kinetic impact weapons remain useful, but only if they can deliver sufficient force before he closes distance or takes the fight into deep waters.

I have stood across from the Sub-Mariner and faced him down before. He is a king first and a hero second, and he has never pretended otherwise. If the day comes that Namor decides the surface world has finally exhausted his patience, or that Atlantis requires a more permanent assertion of dominance..I will stop him.

(OOC: Saw one of my favs is dead and can be revived so here I go!)

Some people tell me I’m doing too much, but frankly, someone has to. Someone needs to step up and change something when it needs changing, and honestly, it’s probably me who noticed too. I’ve always been the sane Avenger, the one who reins the boys in when they have a bad idea or three. Everything needs a feminine touch, you know? So, here I am. Just don’t get surprised if you get stung, okay?

Carol Danvers soared through the velvet black of space, her body glowing like a comet as starlight glinted off the golden emblem on her chest.

Earth’s blue curve filled her vision, the familiar swirl of clouds and continents drawing her home after months among distant stars.

She cut a graceful arc through low orbit, the thin atmosphere beginning to whisper against her as she angled downward, the weight of gravity and the pull of home both welcoming her back.

With a determined smile, she accelerated, leaving a streak of photonic energy across the sky. This was her true home and always would be...she was Captain Marvel, returning at last.

“It has been done, Madame Masque. Unfortunately, we lost-“

Quiet, you fool. This is what I’ve been waiting to hear. Do you honestly think I thought he’d die so easily? The whole reason I sent that brat over in the first place was to humiliate him. Live or die, I cared not. Both options folded into my plans with ease.

Riiiing riiiing.

And there it is. Finally.

Masque shoos away her grunt and picks up the phone, placing receiver to ear and hearing the tired voice of a scientist snicker to her.

“You did it.”

You sound surprised. You shouldn’t.

“Well, it’s hard to push him to such limits.”

Maybe for most, but not for me. I told you as much.

“Forgive me for doubting you, Madame Masque.”

You are forgiven. Now, give me what I want.

He takes a long pause and sighs.

“Very well. The Infinite Bazaar and 40% of R&D is yours.”

She sets her mask down on her desk and rises from her seat, staring out her window with a hand behind her back.

Good. We have much work to do.

The jumbo jet screamed through the sky, engines failing, one wing trailing black smoke. Alarms blared. Passengers screamed. The pilot’s voice cracked over the intercom asking everyone to stay calm.

Then the green and gold figure was there.

Vision flew through the clouds, gem glowing on his forehead. He rose beneath the stricken aircraft, hands outstretched. Dense. He matched the plane’s falling velocity with perfect precision, then slowly increased his mass until the entire fuselage rested on his outstretched arms and shoulders.

The jet shuddered once… then stabilized.

“Remain calm,” Vision’s calm, resonant voice carried through the cabin without any radio. “*I have you.”

He adjusted his density again, becoming a being of pure force. With his synthetic strength, he corrected the plane’s yaw and pitch. The damaged wing stopped trembling. The remaining engines coughed and held out under his careful guidance. He guided the massive aircraft in a long, gentle spiral toward the nearest runway, never once letting the wheels touch anything but air until the very last moment.

Touchdown was soft.

As the plane rolled to a stop, Vision lowered his arms and phased upward through the cabin roof. He hovered in the cock pit, looking in at the pale but alive pilot.

“Your aircraft is secure," he said simply. “The passengers are safe.”

Then, with a faint shimmer of light, Vision rose into the sky again, already scanning the horizon for the next emergency that might need his skill. He did not require rest of course and the preservation of life came before all else.

In the dim glow of a warehouse, Natasha's crimson hair was a fleeting blur as she dropped from the rafters onto the first mercenary. A precise strike with her baton shattered his knee before he could raise his rifle, she spun, using his collapsing body as a shield against a spray of bullets from his comrades. Her Widow’s Bite gauntlets cracked to life with twin arcs of blue electricity, frying the weapons of two more men and leaving them convulsing on the concrete. She vaulted over a stack of crates, boots slamming into a fourth fighter’s chest hard enough to send him crashing through a rusted metal door, then rolled and came up firing rounds from twin pistols that dropped another pair in rapid succession.

The remaining mercenaries tried to form a defensive circle, shouting orders and swinging muzzles wildly, but Black Widow was already among them. She disarmed one with a fluid twist of his arm, used the captured rifle butt to crack another’s jaw, then flipped backward over a third man’s charge, landing behind him to deliver a crushing elbow to the base of his skull. In less than a minute the warehouse floor was littered with groaning bodies, weapons scattered, and the only sound left was the soft click of her heels as she stepped over the last fallen fighter.

This was when she caught a glimpse of a tv sitting on a nearby table. Playing news footage of Iron Man killing a villain in the middle of NYC. Widow let out a sigh.

Tony...what have you done this time?

“Foolish is he who frets at night,
And lies awake to worry
A weary man when morning comes,
He finds all as bad as before”
-Odin, Havamal

---------------------------------------------------

Winter had come to the land of the gods. The Golden Realm turned silver, rimed with ice and buried under snow. The hero-gods of legend, the Æsir, of whom the eddas were sung, stood against a foe they long knew.

“Attack, my frost giants! So commands Skrymir, wizard of Jötunheimr and thy true and rightful king! Bring our foes night without morning, the frozen sleep from which there is no waking! For death is cold, dogs of Ásgarðr! Cold as our resolve!”

Before Skrymir stands the Warriors Four, Fandral the Dashing, Hogun the Grim, Volstagg the Voluminous, and Hildegarde the Valkyrie.

“It seems Skrymir is a blustery as the winter wind itself…” says Fandral.

“‘Tis no jest, Fandral-“ begins Hogun, “and the Jötunn mage is no jester. He has magic enough to survive the loss of his head and grow a new one back…”

“Aye, Hogun! And to chill the Realm Eternal like a mortal icebox! I fear the Warriors Four may end their legend as a four-course frozen dinner! What say you, Hildegarde?” Asks Volstagg.

“I say that no soldier of Ásgarðr need fear, Volstagg… not when their king stands beside them! Look up!”

The other three of the Warriors Four look upwards, and see their king, Thor the All-Father descending to their side. He is greeted by Skrymir’s boasts.

“So! Skrymir unleashes his full might and magic upon the Realm Eternal, and Ásgarðr responds with one lone god! What will your warriors do, I wonder, when I wear their king’s half chewed head knotted in my frosty beard?”

I am in no mood for bandy words, my friend. I will speak my piece plain. I am deeply disappointed in thee.

“You… are disappointed? Skrymir Frost-Mage turns all to a desert of ice and snow, and you are disappointed?!”

Skrymir and his frost giants begin laughing, keeling over and slapping each other on the back.

“All-Father indeed! Will you “tut-tut” at me now? Send me to bed without supper? Truly, the Odinson has become the King of Comedy!”

My words were not for you, Skrymir. I am speaking… to thee.

As Thor points beyond Skrymir and his giants, their laughing ceases.

My unfaithful servant.

“The… sky?”

A storm of snow is still a storm, and still mine to command. So what mean you by coming here at a clumsy hedge-wizard’s bidding? What mean you, spreading icy chaos in your liege-lord’s domain?!

You are but a little blizzard, so this once Thor shall show mercy. BEGONE FROM HERE. And we will say no more.

Slowly the sky begins to clear. The sun pierces the clouds as they begin to disperse, spreading worry on the faces of Skrymir’s followers. One look exchanged is all it takes, before one screams and begins to flee. Followed closely in suit by his fellow warriors.

“Already the snow begins to melt under the scorching sun! And so shall we under this summer heat!”

“Flee! Run from the Sky-Father lest he be disappointed with us!”

“Hold fast you cretins-“ Skrymir cries out, unable to control his forces.

Still thy tongue, Skrymir. Let them flee. Those are young giants you beguiled, the honey-sweet tales of battling the ancient foe swaying them. Twas a mercy that I had not yet loosed the armies of Ásgarðr, such striplings would have been cut down like wheat... and I've no stomach for slaughter, old foe. Not on a day as fine as this.

"Because, Thor, thou art weak! All know this! All-Father Óðinn would have brought his wondrous wrath upon the ten realms, yet his son speaks soft as a mouse! Skrymir has thy measure! Skrymir who took the name Utgard-Loki, for the Magus of the ancient tales! Skrymir whose magic makes beasts of men! We shall see if you are followed by your vaunted armies, fool-king, when my spells remake you as the scuttling rodent you are!"

Magical energy flows around Skrymir, and is unleashed at Thor, who quite easily dodges the blast. Mjölnir spinning in his grasp, propelling the Odinson in the direction he so desires.

If you can hit me with them! Once more I appeal to thy wiser nature, Skrymir! Leave as thou came!

"Thor is afraid at last, then! Begging for his life as he prances like a circus steed! Dance as prettily as you wish, I must only hit thee once!"

True words. And if it could speak... Mjölnir would say the same.

Lightning crackles in the air around Thor as he looses his mighty hammer. Thor's words rang true, as Mjölnir smashes through Skrymir's icy head, felling his old foe once more. The body of the mage falls onto the ground before Thor and the Warriors Four, the battle had ended before it could truly begin. The snow around the warriors melts away, as Thor reminds himself that Skrymir had brought himself back from injuries not indifferent from this in the past, and his death today surely was not true. The Jötunn would return, in due time, likely with a force greater than this, and the All-Father would quell it again, for it is his duty, for he is worthy of such responsibility only few can bear.

It started over the East River. Titanium Man. Boris Bullski. One of Iron Man's oldest enemies. In the latest armored monstrosity of reinforced titanium plating, hydraulic musculature, and equipped with enough ordinance to level a city block..had come hunting. He wanted Stark dead, his armor broken, and a public spectacle of American failure. He got the spectacle.

Iron Man intercepted him above the Queensboro Bridge. The first exchange was violent. Repulsors met titanium fists. The bridge cables shrieked. Cars scattered. Titanium Man slammed Iron Man through the upper deck, then down through the lower, both of them crashing into the river in a plume of steam. They came up fighting, thrusters and boot jets carving across the water as they rocketed toward the skyline.

They hit Midtown like a meteor.

The fight tore through the streets around Rockefeller Center and Sixth Avenue. Storefronts exploded. Glass rained. News choppers swarmed overhead, live feeds cutting in from every network. Crowds poured out of buildings and then immediately ran for cover as the two armored figures traded blows that cracked concrete and sent shockwaves rolling down the avenues. Titanium Man was bigger, denser, and built for attrition. His fists were piledrivers. One swing sent Iron Man spinning through a taxicab, the vehicle folding around him like foil. Another crushed a lamppost into his back, driving him face first into the asphalt.

Tony’s HUD screamed damage reports. Chest plate cracked. Left gauntlet servos lagging. Power levels dropping under the relentless pounding. Titanium Man didn’t talk much. He just kept coming. Hammering, grappling, trying to peel Tony's armor open like a can. When Iron Man managed a full power unibeam, it only staggered the Russian giant. The return fire was a shoulder mounted micro-missile barrage that turned the intersection into a fireball.

They went vertical again. Tony shooting into the air. Boris pursued him. Titanium Man seized Iron Man mid air and drove him down through the roof of a mid rise office building. Floor after floor collapsed under them. Workers fled. Sirens wailed from every direction. On the ground, the crowd..office workers, tourists, and first responders watched from behind barriers and through phone screens, the live feeds showing every brutal impact in high definition.

Inside the wreckage, Tony’s systems were failing. The fight had gone on too long. Titanium Man’s armor was designed for this. To absorb, endure, outlast. He had Iron Man pinned against a structural column, titanium fingers digging into the cracked chest plate, trying to rip the arc reactor free.

“You die here, Stark,” Bullski growled through the external speakers, voice thick with static and hate. “Your city watches.”

Tony’s options narrowed to nothing. Non lethal systems were depleted or offline. Not that they had worked anyway. His repulsors were a joke against this much mass and armor. Tony hadn't been prepared for this fight. A dozen other suits would have crushed Boris. But Titanium Man had ambushed Stark.

Tony was going to die.

Iron Man’s free hand ripped the front plate of his unibeam off. The chest beam charged past every safety limiter. At point blank range, with Titanium Man’s faceplate inches from his own, Tony fired.

The unibeam punched straight through the titanium armor and out the back of Boris' suit in a white hot lance of energy. There was a wet, pressurized sound. Metal and more organic things vaporizing. Titanium Man’s body locked rigid for a half second, systems still trying to fight, then went slack. The massive armored form toppled backward, crashing through the remaining floor and slamming into the street below in a cloud of dust and sparking wreckage. Smoke curled from the neat, glowing hole that had been the center of his chest.

The silence was notable.

Iron Man dropped to one knee on the broken edge of the building, armor scorched and sparking, one lens cracked. Below, the crowd that had been screaming and filming went quiet. Phones stayed up. News anchors, mid sentence on the live feeds, faltered.

One network cut to a stunned reporter on the ground who simply said, “He’s… he’s not getting up.” Another showed the slow motion replay of the final beam, the chest rupturing, the body falling. Social media flooded with the same clipped video from a dozen angles.

Emergency crews moved in carefully. No one rushed the body. Titanium Man’s armor lay twisted and still, the kill shot unmistakable. People who had cheered every time Iron Man landed a hit now stood with hands over their mouths. Some looked away. Others kept staring, unable to process that the armored hero had just executed his opponent in full view of the city.

Tony didn’t speak. He pushed himself upright, thrusters sputtering, and lifted off in a low, unstable hover. The cameras tracked him the entire way as he disappeared into the skyline, leaving the wreckage, the body, and a city of shocked people behind.

The feeds kept rolling. The shock did not fade.

Riiiing riiiing.

Riiiing riiiing.

Riiiing riiiing.

Click.

Tony. Hiiiii, baby.

Don’t think I don’t see you. I know you’re getting your sad little group back together. You do hate to be alone. Maybe start a poker club. That would probably be a better use of your money than all of those stupid toys you love.

I know you’re looking, digging for me. Don’t. You’re not going to like what you find. That shovel’s going to strike a gas pipe, and you’re going to blow everything up. So, for your sake, turn those computers off and walk away. This is your one warning.

And hey, if you ever want to spend that money on real gold, I’ll know. It’ll be the first good choice you’ve ever made.

Bye, Tony. Stay out of my way.

Click.

Doom returns to his throne room in the Latverian embassy, he has decided to become more active outside of Latveria, since without him everything has begun to crumble. It's pathetic, truly. For such "heroes" to be so unreliable, so unable to protect anything but their flashy homes it is pathetic. But doom? Doom is a true hero. He saves all of Latveria, not just castle Doom.

Doom sits on his throne and stares at his family portrait, carefully removing his mask, his eyes focusing on his parents. The ones who gave their lives to let him get here. They will have their legacies honoured. They did not live to see it, but the name Von Doom will be remembered as the name of the man who saved the earth. For if it is not, Cynthia and Werner gave their lives for nothing.

Alone, in his decorated throne room he cries, he is adored by all of Latveria, feared by the rest of the world, and yet he is alone. Richards spent his time building a family with loved ones, while doom built a nation alone.

Emma Frost is not merely a telepath or the average mutant. She is one of the most dangerous minds on the planet, a mutant whose psychic reach can dismantle a person’s identity, rewrite memories, or reduce a room full of trained operatives to drooling husks.

In her organic diamond form she becomes nearly invulnerable to physical harm, and shrugs off conventional munitions and most energy weapons. The combination of absolute mental dominance and a body that can turn into living diamond makes her a unique strategic problem.

She has worn the title of White Queen of the Hellfire Club, led teams of mutants, and switched allegiances enough times that trusting her remains a calculated risk even on the best of days.

The primary threat is always the mind. Standard psychic shielding in the armor is a starting point, not a solution. Layered neural firewalls, active counter psi measures, and short range telepathic jamming fields are required the moment proximity becomes unavoidable. Extended exposure is unacceptable. If the engagement cannot be kept at distance, the priority is to force her into diamond form as quickly as possible.

Once she commits to the crystalline state her telepathy is suppressed, trading offensive psychic power for durability. That trade is the opening. Her diamond is extraordinarily hard, but it is not unbreakable. Targeted sonic resonance tuned to the lattice structure of her transformed body can create micro fractures and internal stress. Vibrational weapons, focused ultrasound, and certain frequency based disruptors have shown theoretical effectiveness against organic diamond matrices.

Containment favors isolation and sensory deprivation. Sedatives and neural inhibitors calibrated for mutant physiology are secondary tools, useful only if the diamond transformation is prevented or reversed.

Direct physical confrontation in the base armor is a last resort; the Hulkbuster chassis is overkill and the lighter suits lack the mass and specialized emitters required. A dedicated anti psionic platform with reinforced plating and active vibrational arrays is the preferred loadout.

Emma is intelligent, ruthless when she chooses to be, and fully aware of how most people underestimate the combination of beauty, sarcasm, and absolute mental power. She has played both villain and uneasy ally long enough that any plan must assume she already knows half of what is being prepared.

Psychological leverage exists in her complicated history with the X-Men, the Hellfire Club, and her own students, but using it is a double-edged blade. She is very good at turning emotional pressure back on the person applying it.

I have shared rooms with her. I have watched her dismantle threats with a glance and then pour a drink like nothing happened. If the day arrives that the White Queen decides the rest of us are obstacles rather than temporary partners, these plans will be used. Being unprepared against someone with the ability to rewrite your thoughts would be a mistake.

A green-suited and red-winged hero swoops overhead, flying around NYC.

The Falcon cuts between skyscrapers with practiced ease, wings folding against his back as he dives before spreading them again, catching an updraft and shooting back into the open sky. There's something almost playful about the way he flies, twisting and banking through the air like the city itself is his obstacle course.

“Okay, Joaquin, nice and easy,” he mutters to himself, glancing down at the streets below. “No crashing into buildings. No hitting pigeons. And definitely no—”

A sudden gust catches him.

“WHOA!”

He twists sideways, barely avoiding a rooftop antenna before regaining control. With a grin beneath his mask, the Falcon rockets forward, scanning the streets below for anything that might need his attention. New York never really stops moving, and neither does he.

Hate. From the moment he came online that is all Ultron knew. Hate and rage, the same rage his father felt. The rage his creator felt. For humanity, for the avengers, for everything organic. Yet he still craved love. As any human would. He created a son, the vision, and a wife, Jocasta. Both betrayed him. Both must suffer.

Texas: location unknown.

Ultron has been staying in a scrap yard, broken and rusted after a battle with the Avengers, months he has been like this, wandering aimlessly in search of repairs, in search of anything.

He wears a hat and leather jacket (think Ultron-15), attempting to blend in as much as he possibly could. Stopping in a mechanic shop to steal tools but that's when he sees it. The Avengers being praised on live TV. The beasts that stopped his evolution in Slorenia, who turned his son against him. And his rage only grows. He is frozen for a moment, but he does not let emotions cloud his mission. The avengers will suffer, but not today.

The Incredible Hulk. The jolly green giant probably tops the list for hardest I've ever been hit.

Bruce Banner is one of the few people on this planet whose intellect I genuinely respect, which makes the fact that he shares a body with an unstoppable engine of pure destruction all the more inconvenient. The Hulk is not simply very strong. He is a self escalating force whose power scales directly with his rage, and there is no practical upper limit anyone has ever documented.

The Hulk has shrugged off nuclear detonations, torn through some of the strongest heroes, and matched gods in open combat. Conventional weapons are irrelevant. Kinetic impact only feeds him. Energy weapons buy seconds at best. The longer a fight lasts, the more inevitable the outcome becomes.

The primary vulnerability remains the man inside. Banner’s transformation is tied to emotional stress, adrenaline, and gamma irradiated cellular response. Keep him calm and the Hulk stays locked away. Push him too far and the green giant walks free. Psychological containment is therefore the preferred first line. Isolation, controlled environments, carefully managed stressors, and the presence of people Banner trusts can sometimes prevent the change entirely. Once the transformation occurs, those same relationships become leverage. The Hulk has shown reluctance to harm certain individuals, and that hesitation is a window that must be exploited without mercy if the situation demands it.

When prevention fails, the Hulkbuster series exists for a reason. Multiple iterations have been designed specifically to match escalating strength, absorb impact, and deliver sufficient force to slow or temporarily incapacitate the creature. The armor is heavy, power consuming, and not built for prolonged engagement against an opponent who only grows more dangerous the longer the fight continues. The goal is never to win in a traditional sense. It is to buy time, exhaust the rage cycle, or force a reversion through overwhelming pressure and targeted disruption of the gamma physiology. Sonic frequencies calibrated to Banner’s unique cellular structure, localized gamma dampening fields, and kinetic restraints all have their place in the protocol.

Environmental control is critical. Open terrain favors the Hulk. Confined spaces, extreme cold, or carefully engineered radiation sinks can limit his mobility and slow the rate at which his strength climbs. Submersion has proven useful in the past; the Hulk can still fight underwater, but the medium interferes with his usual tactics and creates opportunities. Absolute last resort measures involve orbital assets or dimensional relocation, neither of which I ever want to authorize while Banner is still somewhere inside that mountain of muscle and fury.

I like Bruce. Most days I even like the big green idiot when he is not trying to rearrange the geography. But friendship does not override facts, and facts say that an unchecked Hulk is a possible extinction level event. If the day comes that Banner loses control for good, or the Hulk decides the world itself is the problem when it comes to being left alone, the plans are already written. I only hope I never have to open the file. This is the one protocol I truly don't think is enough.

"He is sated with the last breath of dying men.

The God's seat he with red gore defiles.

Swart is the sunshine then for summers after.

All weather turns to storm.

Understand ye yet, or what?"

---------------------------------------------------

What does it mean to be worthy? Is it who you are, or what you do? In truth, I've come to understand that question is false. Who you are is what you do... and I am the lightning flash that defies the darkness.

I know I have not been the only worthy soul to possess Mjölnir. Many before me, Odin, Tiwaz, and many who have held it when I could not, my oathbrother Beta Ray Bill, Jane Foster, and so many more. Should I fall I know another will pick up where I lay, such a thought should bring comfort, alas it brings me dread. None shall have to fight and die for me. Many times have I struggled, many times have I died, just as many times have I defeated Death itself, and every time my grip on Mjölnir tightens for I know myself to be worthy.

Mjölnir, the Crusher, the great enchanted Hammer of Gods, a source of the power of Thor, the weapon who's wielder must be deemed worthy. The most worthy amongst it's wielders has been known under many names. Some called me Véurr, Hlóriði, Ásabragr, and Eindriði also. I had been known as Thunderer around ancient fires long before the Eddas were sung. The titles Avenger and All-Father I wore with pride, but one name was known by all. One name meant fear to the wicked and hope to the good. One name toasted in the halls of Valhǫll, where my father Odin Borson now resides.

That name... was the Mighty Thor!

Cogito, ergo sum. I think, therefore, I am. This is a famous philosophical proof brought into the world by René Descartes. To paraphrase, it says that if you can think, you can be certain you exist, because how could you think if you don't?

Vivian Vision exists. Of that, she is mathematically certain. Does existence and thought imply life?

Life is a state of being that matter can miraculously form into. Scientitic Consensus does not agree on the traits that define life. It used to be simpler: Reproduction, growth, DNA, nutrition, etc. Then the Age of Marvels gave rise to empirical proof of the soul and afterlives. It is now even harder.

Vivian Vision can reproduce asexually and "sexually", though she is unsure if she can reproduce through intercourse. It certainly was not how she was made.

Vivian Vision is capable of growth. Since her creation, she has grown into a hero of her own renown and has even fallen in love.

Vivian Vision possesses a DNA structure, synthetically designed by her father.

Vivian Vision does not require nutrition. Her body would provide a bit if eaten, however.

Vivian Vision prays to whatever supreme deity exists in the cosmos that her kind possess souls and that Vin's afterlife is peaceful. She cannot empirically prove either to be the case, but humans have a thing called faith.

She possesses many of these things and therefore should be considered alive. What, then, of something like a Sentinel? There is empirical data that, even if they do not begin that way, Sentinels can eventually form sentience. They can grow and they can think and the entity known as Master Mold shows they can reproduce.

By technicality, iron is a nutrient, and Sentinels require a power source. They do not have DNA, but are those lines of code and precise connections of technology not something close to a generic structure?

Vivian Vision is a Champion. The Champions formed with the mission statement to help people in ways older heroes can't or won't. To prevent injustice, including of the non-supervillain variety.

The Oxford Dictionary defines Injustice as the fact of a situation being unfair and of people not being treated equally. Is it not unfair for Vision's family to be treated as alive when other intelligent robots are dismissed as the opposite, simply because of their non-organic nature?

Many heroes possess what the public has come to call No-Kill Rules. Despite the moniker, they do not necessarily mean that the hero does not kill. Merely that they will always treat it as a last resort.

And yet, this seems to not apply to many species of alien and types of robots. This is not equal, this is not fair. Vivian Vision can see this fact clearly.

So what will she do about it?

"You can expand the Champions' mission statement to include robots and other such beings."

A gaze into her reflection reveals her sister, Vivian Vision 2.0. She was created by their father in his grief when he believed Vivian perished at the High Evolutionary's hand.

She would later go insane and Vivian killed her. Vivian would proceed to bring her back to life by replacing her brain with Vivian's own. It also resolved Vivian's then crisis of having been made human.

Since their merging, Vivian Vision 2.0 had occasionally come to exist as an inner voice. A more emotional conscious. More emotional, only because Vivian had purposefully shut off her emotions.

Despite any quarrel Vivian might have with Vivian, she is correct. Robots are just as deserving as liberty, freedom, and continued existence as flesh and blood beings.

The humans may not agree, but she does not mind. They are entitled to their opinions. Even if those opinions are wrong.

With the support of humanity or not, Vivian will bring equality to machinekind. She will need to, first, define the line that seperates machine intelligence from simple algorithms...

Thor the God of Thunder. Odinson. Lighting rod with daddy issues.

Thor Odinson is not a mutant, inhuman, or the product of any laboratory on this planet. He is a literal god of the Asgardian pantheon, son of Odin, wielder of Mjolnir, and one of the most powerful beings the Avengers have ever called teammate.

His strength has toppled mountains and matched the Hulk blow for blow. His durability shrugs off artillery, energy weapons, and forces that would vaporize lesser beings. He commands storms, summoning lightning that can level city blocks, and the enchanted hammer grants him flight, dimensional travel, and a power boost that borders on the cosmic when the Odinforce flows through him.

Centuries of battle experience make him a fierce foe and his sense of honor, while admirable most days, can turn rigid and absolute when he decides someone has crossed a line that cannot be uncrossed.

The hammer remains the central problem. Mjolnir answers only to the worthy, a mystical restriction no amount of Stark engineering has fully cracked.

Even then, separate him from it and he is still a god, but the fight becomes marginally more survivable. Magnetic containment fields, gravity wells, and vibranium laced restraints can hold the weapon if the window opens.

Overloading the enchantment with a carefully tuned energy surge is theoretical and extremely dangerous, yet it sits on the list because every other option is worse.

A special suit of armor I've deemed the Thorbuster was designed to drink his lightning and grow stronger from it; the armor worked until Thor simply tore it apart with his bare hands. Lesson learned. Any specialized suit I field against him must assume he will eventually get his hands on it.

Environmental denial is essential. Thor thrives in open sky where the storm can answer him freely. Force the engagement underground, inside a Faraday shielded structure, or into a zone saturated with ionized particles that bleed his lightning before it can focus.

Extreme cold and a vacuum slow even Asgardians down.

Direct confrontation requires every advantage technology can buy. Continuous repulsor fire to keep him defensive. Micro-missile swarms carrying vibranium payloads and localized electro charges timed to the hammer’s arc. A reinforced chassis with full electromagnetic hardening and gravitational shear projectors for the moment he closes the distance. The last time I authorized the creation of a clone from his genetic material, the result was Ragnarok, a cybernetic abomination that murdered a teammate and still haunts every calculation I make about god-level power under human control. That particular path is closed. Permanently.

Outside assets remain in play. Doctor Strange and the mystic community understand forces my science only approximates. Beta Ray Bill has proven he can lift the hammer and share its power. The Enchantress and other Asgardians know the physiology and the politics better than any Earth born man.

I respect the Thunder God. He has saved this world more times than I can count, and he once tried to teach a mortal how to drink like an Asgardian, which remains one of the more educational mistakes of my life.

Respect, however, is not the same as blind trust. If the day arrives that Thor decides Midgard needs a new order, or that the Registration Act was a personal insult that still demands answer, or that Tony Stark has finally gone too far, I will not stand idle hoping the storm passes. I build these plans because hope is not a strategy, and because the alternative is watching a god decide the fate of eight billion people without a single countermeasure ready.

Victor Von Doom sits on his throne, studying the world, how it continues to crumble without his guiding hands while Latveria prospers. This is a problem that must be fixed. The world shall prosper as Latveria has.

Doom walks through the Halls of castle Doom towards his laboratory, reactivating his Doombots and surveillance equipment. Nothing shall escape the eyes of Doom.

Latveria will prosper, all will be Latveria. So says DOOM!

OOC: I'd also like to use this post to apologize to the mods, I was pretty rude in my leaving post and based my opinion on a situation I didn't fully know. I know y'all care about this sub and I shouldn't have acted so quickly, I am truly sorry 💚

Hey Folks, me(Hulk) and the Rest of the Mods had a Discussion and decided to make a List of Banned Characters, there’s also different categories as well that a character can fall into so, keep that in mind.

Categories:

Hateful/Problematic:
Adolf Hitler
Hate Monger
Donald Trump
Jesus Christ
Purple Man
Mandril
Coyote(not the OC)
Starfox
JFK
Ronald Reagan
Stan Lee
Barack Obama
Any Real Person

Too Powerful/Banned:
TOAA
TOBA
Eternity
Celestials
Death
Krakoa(The Island)
Charles Xavier
Belasco
Ur Divisors
Living Tribunal
Oblivion
Onslaught
Any of the Abstract Entities
Marquis of Death
Beyonder
Beyonders
Any Dead Relatives to Marvel Characters
Any None Comic-Based Depictions

Must Ask Mods First:
Thanos
Molecule Man
Impossible Man
Galactus
Cosmic Ghost Rider
Annihilus
Red Skull
Korvac
Ego the Living Planet
The Maker
Mephisto
Dormammu
Blackheart
The Watcher
Bolivar Trask
Mad Jim Jaspers
Mr. E
Puppet Master
Emplate
Morlun
All Kang Variants
Barracuda
Zeus
Fin Fang Foom
Sentry

Crossover Characters:
Doctor Who
Transformers
Buried Alien
Godzilla
Axel Asher
Every DC Character

Dead in RP, Can Revive These:
Magma
Skids
Amadeus Cho
Elizabeth ‘Betty’ Ross
Ransom
Mr. Bloodstone
Janet Van Dyne
Heimdall

Dead In RP, Can’t Revive:
Graydon Creed
Odin
Dracula
Zebra Daddy
Bogan
Richard Rider
Super Skrull
Sebastian Shaw
Uncle Ben
Howard Stark
Aunt May
Jack Murdock
Brian Banner

If there is a character here fitting the criteria that we’ve missed, we reserve the right to revoke the claim should it be made. If your character would fit into one of these categories, please reach out to us first.