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Novus Lupus	By : TheMadSlasher Category: Marvel Verse Movies > Avengers, The Views: 8394 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: The Avengers and all related characters are property of Marvel, not the author. The author makes no income from this fiction.

Chapter List
- 1-Novus Lupus
- 2-Act 2
- 3-Act 3
- 4-Act 4
- 3
- 4
ACT 4

Part 31

The dry desert wind whipped around them as they stood on the hill overlooking the camp.

Thor clutched his hammer as the red-gold strands of hair blew across his face. His gray t-shirt, tan hiking boots and blue jeans were the only clothes he had.

Hawkeye stood without his jacket; the tiny pinpricks over his arms were visible to all, yet no one commented on them. "Alright guys, I'm off to do my part. Radio silence until we rendezvous. You'll know when I'm done." He began to descend the hill, backing away from the camp.

Steve and Tony both nodded. "We will," Tony replied as the soft late-afternoon sunlight gleamed off his armor. His faceplate rendered his reply through multiple filters.

He starts with an infiltration, then Tony hacks the systems, then we go in the soldier thought to himself as his gaze focused on the camp. "This is where they held me," he said in the most professional tone he could summon.

"Yeah. So you can take as much delicious tasty revenge as you want," Tony replied dryly as a computer screen flipped up from a panel on his forearm. His free hand's metal fingers tapped at the keys.

"And if yer not one fer wet-work," Logan growled as he popped his claws, "ya know who ta call. There are lots of innocents here... but lotsa people deservin' of much more than a stabbin'." His mouth sat in a grim line.

Clint's footsteps echoed against the concrete walls of the pipe. One of the benefits of working for those NL bastards; they always have a convenient evacuation route for agents to use. Which can be re-purposed into an infiltration route. The metal box Tony gave him weighed heavily in his hand. The gray steel bars of the gate loomed before him as his steps became heavier.

Back on the hill, the console on Tony's arm beeped. "Goody, he's in. I'm deploying the virus right now; it should render the surveillance network blind to him. As long as no one sees Clint, we'll be fine."

"If you can hack the security from here why can't you hijack control over the entire base?" Steve asked with one yellow eyebrow raised.

"Short answer; this is a simple virus that isn't hard to insert. Full hijacking requires a link with more bandwidth and one that's harder to disrupt. That's what the box Clint's carrying is for."

Steve nodded. "Oh. Couldn't you have told me?"

Tony just kept his face fixed on his forearm console. "Virus uploaded. Fun times, very cool, now we just wait for Clint and hope he doesn't get spotted."

"He won't be," Logan replied with conviction.

A few minutes later, the console on Tony's arm beeped. Behind the faceplate, he smirked as his fingers flew across the keyboard. "Okay, Cap," Iron Man said, "this is where you come in."

Steve nodded as his eyes narrowed. He stared at the camp and remembered the lash digging into his flesh, the repeated kicks to his gut, the desperate struggles for air.. his grip tightened around the handle of his shield.

"Alright," he began as steel crept into his voice. "Thor, Iron Man, you need to be our heavy hitters and neutralize their defenses. Iron Man, airdrop both Logan and I about half a mile outside their perimeter. We'll come in on foot after you and Thor have weakened them. When we re-establish communications with Hawkeye, he'll join Logan and I in locating the override keys for the detention facility."

"The virus can crack it, Steve," Iron Man interrupted casually. "In seven hours or so," the armored form added.

"The faster the better, Iron Man, and seven hours isn't fast enough. Logan, Hawkeye and I will search for the keyholders; Doctor Yusuf Marcus, Commandant Anabelle Renton, and Master Sergeant Jacob Cameron. You and Thor provide the distraction."

Iron Man looked over at Thor and grinned behind the faceplate. "So big guy, ready to put on a show?"

Thor's mouth grinned almost gleefully even if his eyes remained hard and resolute. "Always, shield brother. Let them fear our wrath!"

"Alright, men. Let's do this," Steve said.

Part 32

Thick, dark stormclouds filled the sky above the camp; brilliant flashes of lightning arced through the firmament as the steady rumble of thunder grew louder. The wind whipped around Thor's body as his crushing grip on Mjolnir only grew tighter. The desert sands streaked beneath him as his eyes focused on the walls of the resoc camp. His blood boiled as he thought of all those imprisoned Midgardians, today you shall taste freedom and your oppressors taste vengeance.

Thor swooped through the skies as he finally reached the camp itself; bullets rushed past him as jagged thunderbolts crashed down from the sky. Guards dodged to avoid the white-hot arcs of static as stationary guns exploded in showers of sparks and debris. The blood raced through the Asgardian's veins, fueled by adrenaline and rage. Lightning streamed forth from Mjolnir's head and sliced into the grounds of the facility.

Suddenly, a bullet crashed into Thor's abdomen but it failed to puncture his Asgardian skin; the pain only made him furrow his brow more intensely as Mjolnir's fury continued to pour from the sky. Booming thunder roared through the air, sounding almost like a live animal as he willed more lightning to the ground.

Iron Man swooped low to the ground; Steve and Logan jumped off his back and landed on the dusty surface. Immediately the inventor smirked into his HUD.

"Punch it, JARVIS."

"Yes Sir."

Suddenly, the repulsors flared and Iron Man blasted across the desert; a plume of sand and dirt trailed behind him as the downpour of Thor's thunderbolts became closer.

"Lightning charge-transfer activated, Sir," JARVIS said.

So his strength really is as much mine as it is his. Huh, Tony thought as he rose higher and traveled over the camp's walls. Bullets raked across his suit, but inside he only heard a soft plink from each one. His flight path circled around the aloft Asgardian.

"Iron Man!" Thor bellowed; glad I built automatic volume adjustment into the comm system Tony thought as he stabilized alongside the red-blond.

Instantly they both flew away from each other as a hailstorm of turret fire erupted around them; Thor flew upwards while Tony swooped around in a distorted spiral.

"Structural Integrity at 92%, Sir," JARVIS intoned.

"Ready, big guy?" Tony asked.

Thor merely nodded at him as angry streaks of lightning continued to tear through the sky.

Instantly the two heroes swooped downward, curving and zig-zagging to confuse the turrets' targeting. Jagged forks of light plunged like knives into stationary guns; bright lines of repulsor fire sliced through metal as if it were nothing.

"We can't get a lock!" yelled the NL operative inside the CIC. His voice could barely be heard over the blare of klaxons and hurried sound of orders being issued. He could feel sweat gather beneath his collar. "Turret integrity dropping!"

"Switch to manual targeting, boy!" his commander barked back. He immediately obeyed.

One stationary gun broke apart under the sustained lightning barrage unleashed by Mjolnir; the weapon seemed to simply disintegrate as if all the bolts holding it together vanished. A second gun's barrel melted into sludge as the repulsor fire heated the metal to a jelly-like state.

Sweat dripped from Thor's brow as white-hot flashes seemed to orbit around Mjolnir. The second last stationary gun trained towards him and he grit his teeth. He thought of below; all those imprisoned to be brainwashed or killed for the crime of not wanting to grovel, not wanting to be subjugated, not letting themselves be ruled...

The stationary gun fired at the Asgardian.

With a massive roar of rage, Thor swung the hammer's head towards the turret and released a torrent of white-hot, sky-searing electricity. The bullets were caught in the stream and turned instantly to vapor; the gun itself split apart in an explosive crack.

Tony's HUD turned red as the reticule encircled the final turret. He swerved quickly as the white-orange flashes of tracer bullets rushed at him. The harsh sound of metal scouring metal scraped at his ears.

"Hull Integrity 86%," JARVIS stated.

Tony grumbled. "I don't have time for this. JARVIS, engage Unibeam!"

Tony swung his chest towards the gun as a column of light blasted forth from his armor. The bluish-tinged energy slammed into the turret like an avalanche and tore it apart as if it were tissue paper.

Okay, now just the goons on the ground left he quickly thought as he activated the comm system,

"Hey Cap, Logan, all turrets are down. Coming to join the party?"

Logan's boots thudded on the ground as he ran towards the concrete wall. The flashes of light from Thor's storm glinted across the metal of his claws. He felt sweat begin to bead on his skin as his mind began to lose clarity; muscle memory, instinct and sheer drives began to leak into his thoughts. He could smell the blood lying beneath the skin of the guards.

Steve dashed over the rocky, dusty surface and fixed his eyes towards the top of the wall; assault rifles, three guards. Glad for the bulletproof plates he thought as he readied his shield. He drew his arm back and flung the metal disc upward; it smashed into one guard with a resounding clang. The other two guards looked at him and immediately raised their rifles. Bullets raked into the ground beside him as he jumped into the air to catch his shield; as he grabbed the vibranium armament he heard bullets begin to slam into it and ricochet off. He crouched beneath the cover it provided and cast his eyes toward the wall again.

The Wolverine's claws sank into the reinforced concrete walls with a crunch. The Canadian dragged himself upwards as bullets pierced his skin but had no effect beyond enraging him further. As he climbed onto the top of the wall he immediately lunged for the nearest guard and plunged his adamantium talons deep into the black-clad grunt's heart.

"Yer lucky I'm makin' this quick," the stocky brawler hissed into the ear of the guard as the body beneath him twitched and shook.

Immediately, the feral began rampaging across the walkway; his claws sliced through every single guard in his way. Blood spattered across his jacket and lay like scattered scarlet ribbons on the concrete. Bodies fell in his wake as the mutant got closer and closer to the gate control panel.

The Captain instantly dashed as he saw the heavy steel plates of the main entrance begin to swing open. He slipped through the expanding gap, shield held aloft against incoming fire. He felt the ground tremor as Logan dropped down from the wall-top walkway and landed beside him.

"Iron Man, Thor, we're in," Steve spoke into the comm, "rendezvous outside Admin."

As the tall blond and short black-haired man ran across the yard, stray guards fell from repulsor fire and lightning blasts. All the remaining that didn't flee were knocked aside by the Captain's shield; Logan's claws had been retracted and the Canadian reverted to using fists.

Iron Man and Thor descended to the ground just in front of the iron-gray Administration building; the structure was surrounded in a lace-like labyrinth of razor wire that only left a single path to the entrance. The door was ajar.

The door moved. Immediately, Iron Man raised a hand toward it, Steve's arm swung backward, Thor raised Mjolnir, and Logan crouched in preparation for a lunge.

A black-clad NL guard stumbled out of the door unevenly; two arrows were embedded in his chest. The guard's disoriented motions looked as if they were taking place underwater. A second later the operative collapsed.

Clint emerged from the door, bow in hand and a smirk on his face; his forehead appeared devoid of sweat.

"Great show, guys," he began, "most of the goons were too busy out here to be a problem for me." He then turned to Steve; "priority targets followed attack protocol though. Commandant Renton's holed up in here," he pointed back over his shoulder at the Admin complex, "Doctor Marcus is somewhere in the Medical facility, and Sergeant Cameron's in the armory."

The Captain nodded, "good work Hawkeye. Next move is to get the keys."

"Dibs on Renton," Clint immediately responded. "I cleaned out Admin already so I'll be the fastest."

"And I'll have a chat with Doc Marcus," the Canadian snarled from behind Steve.

The Captain nodded. "Deal with them how you deem appropriate," he said in a quieter than usual voice, guessing precisely how Hawkeye and Wolverine would choose to deal with their targets. "I'll retrieve Cameron's key. We'll rendezvous outside Detention block ASAP. Iron Man, Thor," he turned his head towards the inventor and the Asgardian, "keep control of the camp until we have the keys. See you all soon."

"Gotcha," Tony replied as he took to the skies again. Thor spun Mjolnir before following his armored ally upward.

Logan already began stalking towards Medical when the Captain turned back to his fellow ground-dwellers. Clint turned and casually strode back to Admin; Steve cast his eyes towards the Armory.

Not much longer, soldier, he thought to himself. At least you didn't have to go back to the training grounds.

Part 33

The antiseptic, metallic smell in the air had the hair on the back of his neck standing up. Logan's boots thudded against the cold steel floor of the Medlab and echoed against the walls. His eyes moved over the array of tools; gurneys, tables, microscopes, scalpels, speculums, restraints...

Don't think about it, he willed himself as he felt the temperature of the surrounding air drop. He remembered the slightly sticky wetness on his skin as the tank filled with fluid. He ground his teeth together and smelled the air; this way he thought as he picked up a scent of nervous sweat and hand sanitizer. His gait became more hunched-over as the scent grew thicker in his nostrils; pain flared between his knuckles as he extended his claws.

The voice in his head thrashed, howled and roared with saliva dripping from its fangs; a slick of blood and sweat coated its body and its claws flailed wildly... no.. that's tha Wolverine, not Logan... The Canadian's eyes peered down the corridor towards a heavy steel door. The scent got stronger with each step he took.

The short man reached the heavy door; beside him sat a recessed plate of clear perspex-like material. Behind that recessed plate stood a man with dark, oily brown hair, yellowed teeth, and cold gray eyes.

"Doctor Marcus, I presume?" Logan snarled through a clenched jaw.

"Indeed, Weapon X," the Doctor replied in an eloquently-toned rasp. "The minute we spotted you on the cameras, they made sure I received the files... you're an impressive specimen, Logan."

An angry, low growl welled up from the Canadian's lungs. "I'm no lab specimen, bub. But I bet yer fuckin' salivatin' over tha thought of havin' me as one..."

"Of course," the Doctor replied as he smirked. "We know why a submissive would resent their place, but for one blessed with such a superior nature, one destined to be an alpha wolf, to turn his back on his station in life, that is a true mystery."

"Ya wanna mystery?" Logan replied as he pressed the tip of his claws against the perspex plate, "how about 'where's tha Detention key?'"

Immediately, the Doctor held up what looked like a rectangle of glass with circuitry traced on one side; it was no larger than a matchbox. Doctor Marcus then placed it in his mouth and swallowed it.

Logan's teeth ground together as he heard the Doctor chuckle;

"see, Weapon X? I just defied your will, and it frustrated you! Doesn't that prove my point? We're the New Wolf, Logan, and you are destined to be an alpha."

The Doctor's eyes went wide as he saw the feral's claws rip through the thick perspex like it were nothing; he writhed as he felt the Canadian's rough hand clenching around his throat. At the sensation of the cold metal of the claws touching his cheek, he went still.

"Ya still don't get it, do ya Doc?" Logan hissed furiously as he kept his grip firm. "Ya call me a wolf," he continued as his voice dropped to a low gravel and he carefully pronounced each word, "but I am not an animal." He tightened his grip around the Doctor's neck; his fingers dug into the flesh of the other man.

Marcus could only laugh as he felt the constriction increase; his lungs burned for air but even so he didn't struggle; it is only a matter of time before he sees the truth! He wheezed and gurgled as his field of vision shrank and became hazy, but his faith never waned.

Logan could've made it easier.

He could've stabbed the unconscious man in the head before slicing the stomach open to retrieve the key.

But the feral remembered how it was the Wolverine that sprang forth from the tank, the Wolverine that sliced the project director to shreds, the Wolverine that butchered the Weapon X guards; Logan didn't get his payback. Tha Wolverine took it away from him. So tha scales ain't balanced.

A quick viewing of the files of Dr. Marcus' "Examinations" made it perfectly clear to Logan that the Doctor was more than deserving of serving as a substitute; video files showed men, women, children, gagged and hooded and being subjected to "treatments" that made the feral feel nauseous. Just because they didn't wanna play tha dom-sub game, didn't wanna act like pack animals, they ended up strapped ta Marcus' table...

When Marcus woke up strapped to his own operating table, his eyes went wide in fear. As he witnessed the icy sheen of fluorescent light against adamantium blades, he felt cold sweat begin to bead on his skin. When Logan tore his shirt off and he realized what Logan planned on doing, his heart began to pound and soft whimpers began to leak from his lips. Those whimpers became cries as he felt a white-hot line of agony begin at his sternum and trace downward; blood gushed upward from beneath his flesh. It wasn't long before he blacked out from the pain.

A short time later, Logan held the key under the running faucet in the medlab. He slid it into his pocket before walking out of the facility and towards the Detention block.

Part 34

Hawkeye moved down the Admin corridor with an arrow already nocked, just in case. The occasional guard lay dead on the floor, often with several arrows sticking out of their body. His footsteps could barely be heard over the sound of buzzing fluorescent lights and the ominous, distant rumble of thunder.

Renton's gonna be in her saferoom, Barton thought as he crept towards the door at the end of the hallway. He remembered when Natasha dragged him to a room at the end of a hallway. He shuddered. This time, it isn't me that's gonna be in a lot of pain though, he recited in his head as his grip on the bow tightened.

In one fluid motion, his boot crashed against the door of Renton's office and he stepped into the darkened room; desk, filing cabinets, door to saferoom. Nothing unexpected. He immediately spoke into his comm;

"Hey Iron Man, need some help with Renton's saferoom. Can you override the lockdown?"

"Well duh," Iron Man responded sounding almost offended. "Decryption should only take a minute or two."

"Thanks Shellhead," Clint replied casually as he kept his gaze fixed on the heavy steel slab ahead.

When the door opened, the archer bore witness to the coal-black gaze of Commandant Anabelle Renton.

Renton's slender form was wrapped in a black NL bodysuit. The near-lunar pallor of her face was the only bare skin on her body. Her dark brown hair sat in a bun atop her head. She stared at Clint intently, not even flinching at the drawn arrow.

Clint rolled his eyes. "Yeah, like that 'intimidating imperious dom stare' is gonna work on someone that took out most of your guards."

"We'll do this the hard way then," Renton replied in a steely voice. Immediately she jumped into the air, vaulted over the desk and twisted into a kick that knocked Clint's bow over to the other side of the office.

Fuck! Clint thought as he back-flipped out of Renton's range and reached for the knife he kept in his boot. His fingers nearly dug into the blade's handle as he scanned the woman intently; short, limber, shit she's like 'Tash with a dye job. Thank fuck for all the acrobatics I did as a kid. He slid beneath her whirling limbs as she kept moving forward.

Renton jumped back onto the desktop before drawing her pistol. She aimed it right at the spiky blond head with nothing but cold indifference.

Clint quickly dived and rolled as he heard a gunshot ring out and felt a streak of pain slash through the side of his arm. He grit his teeth at the familiar warm stickiness of blood as he lunged towards the desk and collided with Renton's legs.

He had her pinned to the ground; the archer's knife rose from Renton's thigh. The woman's breathing grew harsh as she thrashed around but the gun had been dropped and fallen on the other side of the desk. Immediately, he reached back into his quiver, pulled out a stun arrow, and slammed the electrified arrowhead into her chest.

When the Commandant woke up, she felt a ball-gag between her teeth and manacles around her wrists and ankles. The knife had been removed from her thigh but the blade's deep piercing burn remained. Her back was against the wall; in front of her, sitting on the desk, was the insolently-grinning face of Clint Barton. The bullet-graze on his bicep had already been bandaged.

"If I will give NL credit for anything," he began, "it's that they keep restraints in almost every filing cabinet. Y'know, just if some bratty sub needs to be punished." And now, it's payback time! Barton stood up as his eyes narrowed; he closed in on Commandant Renton and raised his gloved fingertips to her jawline. His grin became downright cruel as his voice dropped to a rasp.

"I haven't had good experiences with women like you. So I'd tell you not to take this personally, but hey, your choice."

He wouldn't dare! Renton thought as outrage raced through her psyche and painted itself across her face. She wished she could bite the man's fingers off and hear his screams.

Clint just laughed. "Don't get your hopes up, Anabelle," he said as he took a few steps backwards and readied his bow, "one thing that elevates us above you NL types is we only fuck people we like."

The Commandant's eyebrows rose as she watched the archer withdraw a broadhead from the quiver and nock it.

Hawkeye fired the first arrow into her left kneecap, and the second into her right. He made sure to aim for the spots where the most bone would be shattered. He couldn't deny the thrill that raced through him as he heard the woman's muffled yells of pain; so my revenge is being served hot. Awesome!

Renton's ragged gasps became faster as she saw Barton draw a third and fourth arrow; he lay the fourth arrow on the desk as he nocked the third. "Nah, I'm not gonna make this any quicker," she heard him say flippantly as she braced herself for even more pain.

The third arrow went into her left shoulder. The fourth into her right. She cried out as her jaw clamped around the rubber ball. Against every single ounce of her will, tears crept into the dominant's eyes and spilled down her cheek. The feelings of defeat and degradation which she had inflicted on so many of her lessers began to burrow into her consciousness. She closed her eyes in acceptance.

"Want some mercy?" she heard him say. She opened her eyes.

Instantly, Clint released the nocked fifth arrow. The sharp tip burrowed right through the Commandant's left pupil and deep into her brain. The pale-skinned corpse slumped forward as eyeball jelly slowly slithered down the arrow's shaft.

The archer smirked as he slung his bow back over his shoulder. He moved forward and began searching the Commandant's pockets and pouches. In a few seconds he felt the hard, circuitry-etched plastic of the key.

"Hey guys, the bitch is down," he said into his comm. "See you at D-block."

Part 35

Gray cement walls lined with weapons and topped with protective plexiglass stretched into the distance; Steve focused his eyes. His fist tightened around the handle of his shield as the sound of his footfalls reverberated around the room. The cold air brushed against the back of his neck. The hairs stood on end when he heard the voice.

"So the pretty boy soldier is back," Master Sergeant Jacob Cameron rasped corrosively.

Steve silently gulped before turning to face the man... the same iron-gray-haired man that lashed his back repeatedly. The same man that demanded he prostrate himself and taste bootleather out of self-debasement. The man with a spirit no different to that of every single bully that ground his scrawny past self's face into the concrete of countless Brooklyn alleyways.

Steve gritted his teeth and glared defiantly into Cameron's green eyes. I don't back down from bullies he thought as he felt his pulse quicken and grip grow sore from the force of the clench around the shield's handle. He assessed the other man's threat level; he's carrying no visible firearms, strong build, clearly trained. The blond immediately assumed a fighting stance.

"I'll give you one chance, Cameron," Rogers said clearly, "hand over the key and stay out of our way."

The Sergeant just leered. "Couldn't stay away, could you? You need control, punk... no matter how much you think you don't, you crave it. That's what brought you back to me... you recognize your superior even if you can't admit it." Cameron held his head high and sneered disdainfully as he looked at Steve; his right index finger pointed down towards his boots. "Wanna avoid more lashes? Then start being a good soldier. On your knees, Rogers, down where you belong."

Steve charged and leapt forward; his shield crashed into Jacob's shoulder. Both men fell onto the floor in a tangle of limbs; Steve grabbed onto Cameron's waist and tried to hold him down.

Cameron struggled and squirmed out of his grip and kicked upwards. His booted foot caught Steve's jaw; he smirked viciously as he saw the Super Soldier's head snap back.

Steve's world spun and before he knew it he could feel Cameron's arms around his neck and jaw; his throat grew tight as the squeeze grew tighter. The weight of the man on his back and the sudden reduction in air supply...

the thick plastic wrap over his head couldn't be punctured with his tongue, his heart thundered in panic and he remembered all those times when each breath hurt and his lungs felt like they were wrapped in chains...

"So that's what works..." Cameron suddenly grunted, "huh pretty boy? I saw your files... asthmatic when you were a scrawny little thing. Maybe that's the way to keep you in line," the Master Sergeant's snarl then suddenly became a cry as he felt Steve's teeth sink into his arm.

Steve shook the gray-haired man off his back and rolled away. He gasped before leaping back onto his feet and glaring coldly at the Dominant. "That never kept me down back then. There's no way in hell it'll keep me down now!" he bellowed defiantly before charging again, smashing his shield into Cameron's shoulder a second time. As the two men flew across the room, Steve's free hand reached around his tormentor's torso and grabbed a familiar-feeling sturdy metal object. No visible firearms... but he'd have a concealed one.

Cameron panted frantically as he stared up at the barrel of the gun; no... it can't be he thought as he felt some foreign sensation creep into his psyche. The ache in his torso from the blond man's attacks somehow seemed to merge with this new emotion. His eyes grew wider as he began to recognize it.

I've been bested. Conquered. Put in my place. The feeling sat like a lump of lead in his stomach; he took a slow and shaky breath as the implications became clear. He looked away from the gun barrel and towards Steve's sweat-glazed face.

"Please... please Sir," he began in a near-whimper. "I'm sorry... I was insolent to you, I deserve to be punished Sir... but please don't kill me..." He immediately raised his hands above his head and got onto his knees; he ignored the soreness of his muscles.

Steve remembered the fiery slashes across his back that Cameron's bullwhip delivered. He recalled the stickiness of the drying blood on his skin. He remembered his panicked gasps as the thick plastic covered his nose and mouth. He cocked the firearm and pointed it at the Master Sergeant's head.

Cameron immediately lay on his stomach and crawled forward; "please, please Sir," he pleaded as he looked up with wide and begging eyes. "I belong beneath your boots, Sir... I'm sorry Sir..."

Steve watched silently as he saw the same man that whipped him bloody crawl toward his booted feet. He watched Jacob Cameron's lips surround the toe of the boot and kiss a trail up the shaft. He witnessed the man staring up at him, wishing for his approval, desperate to please him.

He heard more whimpers come from the man at his boots; at that moment Steve Rogers felt nauseous with pity. He doesn't belong beneath my boots, he thought disgustedly, he doesn't deserve that privilege... no pride, no dignity, now he's just living to serve... shooting him would be mercy. Captain Rogers had never felt more turned off in his entire life. The pressure of Cameron's tongue against the leather of his boot only made Steve feel insulted. He took a step backward.

Cameron looked up again with a moist, perplexed gaze. His heart pounded in fear of the weapon pointed at his face, fear of not pleasing his master, fear of failing to accept his place... he bowed his head.

"Please Sir... don't kill me. Have mercy."

The nausea rolled in his stomach as his index finger tightened around the trigger. Pity... mercy... he remembered the words from his childhood church, things reserved for the lowest of the low.. for the worthless.

Immediately the Captain swung his shield into Cameron's face. The loud clang reverberated off the walls and the Master Sergeant's body lay still in a crumpled heap. Out cold he thought as he threw the other man's weapon to the other side of the room. The viscous blend of disdain and disgust in his mind only grew thicker; he's not even worthy of a bullet. At that moment he wished he'd never have to feel this monstrous level of contempt for another human being ever again.

He shoved the feelings out of the way, knelt beside the unconscious man and began searching the pockets.

The etched clear card felt heavy in his palm; his free hand tapped the comm. "This is Rogers. I've acquired Cameron's key." He took a slower than usual breath before continuing; "we'll rendezvous as planned, then free the prisoners."

He took one last look at Cameron's body. He detected no motion beyond breathing. He quickly turned away and left the armory.

Mission accomplished... you've done it. Won the battle. Now, the war.

Epilogue

The manifesto reached the email of every single news organization on earth. JARVIS promised that the email would be untraceable.

To Whom It May Concern,

I write this as a statement of intent and principles.

When I was a young child growing up in Brooklyn, I had many encounters with a certain kind of person. This kind of person frequently spat on me, beat me until I was covered in bruises, and took the time to remind me they considered me pathetic scum. This kind of person considered themselves a naturally superior creature, destined to command and entitled to receive the obedience of others.

One particular person of this kind ended up commanding the war machine known as Nazi Germany. He posited that this "natural superiority" existed within the bloodline and collective spirit of a specific race; a race destined to rule their inferiors. In the process of implementing his beliefs, his war machine murdered tens of millions.

The kind of person I speak of should be called by their proper title: the bully.

But today, we call them the Dominant. And we do not consider them a menace to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness; rather, we lionize them as the great, the superior, the natural rulers, the Alphas. And we teach their victims not to rebel against their tormentors, but rather to accept a subordinate role to them; we preach not pride and worthiness but rather bullyhood and victimhood.

I enlisted because I hate bullies. I would have rather died than live in a world ruled by bullies. I would not accept victimhood as my station in life. A cruel irony it was to be defrosted, to find everything I fought for had been destroyed, to find my worst nightmare had become reality.

Indeed, we now live in a time where fighting back against bullies marks oneself out as a "bratty" or "punk" submissive that "secretly desires to be broken." The same character trait that made me worthy of the Super Soldier Serum is the same character trait that, according to this society's disgraceful philosophy, makes my colleague and ally Clint Barton worthy of degradation, humiliation and subjugation.

This philosophy, the "Novus Lupus" ideology, has so far murdered in excess of twenty-three million people, forced countless millions into relationships without their consent, demanded that these countless millions relate in such a way that may bear no relationship to their actual preferences, and has necessitated the creation of a totalitarian State more intrusive than Hitler's.

The Novus Lupus ideology claims to correctly grasp human nature. I disagree.

The ideology begins by debasing all mankind; by claiming we are no different from any other animal and thus we should act like animals. It continues by rejecting every achievement of the Enlightenment; the rule of law, individual rights, and human equality. It concludes by endorsing a social arrangement so deeply evil that people are thrown in concentration camps for having the wrong preferences in bed.

I write this to avenge not only the millions murdered and brutalized, but the principles of the Enlightenment which Novus Lupus has attacked; the principles of the Declaration of Independence.

All human beings have an inalienable right to their life, their liberty, and the pursuit of their own happiness. They don't need to serve the happiness of any King, or any God, or any Dominant, in order to justify their existence. It is a consequence of the equal freedom principle that no person has the right to demand that others live for their happiness. Just as no one has a duty to serve, no one has a right to rule.

Nature did not create some to serve and some to rule; we are supposed to live as independent equals. Neither I nor my allies will rest until the lands currently known as the Ordered States of North America are governed by that principle.

"America," in the sense of the United States of America, was destroyed by the Novus Lupus Movement. But the principles of the Declaration of Independence cannot be destroyed; ideas are bulletproof. It is those ideas I am loyal to; the crowning achievements of 1776.

And it is to those ideas that, alongside my allies, my fellow Avengers, I pledge my life, my skills, and my sacred honor.

Capt. Steven Rogers

Captain '76
The End
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Novus Lupus