Squadron Supreme Oneshots

The Citadel

Marcus Milton loved his jobs. He was a cartoonist, illustrator, and freelance animator. He loved creating his own world, making satirical statements about politicians, and making people laugh and feel good in general.

What he didn't like was the bosses. They were out of touch, lazy, and slow. For morons who complained about how no one could keep up with them, they had a hard time keeping up with deadlines and current events. And when upper management asked what's the problem, those same morons pointed fingers at each other and the "less than."

Honestly, people like this made Mark forget why he bothered with the Hyperion gig. If he wanted to deal with delusional assholes who loved to ruin lives, he should just get a full-time job at Clarion.

And here he was, stuck in a stuffy room, in a full suit, being shouted at by the editors. He had zoned out after hearing, "Take a seat," and was just nodding and trying to keep his head up.

His watch suddenly beeped, pulling him out of daze. Luckily, his boss was screaming to loudly to hear anything but his own voice, and he was exactly looking in Mark's direction...

Mark tapped his watch, activating the holo screen. A familiar winged sigil popped up, then three bars had popped up in front of it.

"Milton!" Marcus looked up. "Where do you think you're going?" Marcus looked down, he didn't remember standing.

"Sorry, Mr. Thomas." He wasn't sorry. "Family emergency. Gotta go!" He zipped out, practically flying out the door, while his boss cussed incoherently.

***

"Welcome back, Zhib-Ran." The doors slid open, letting the Eternal glide into the room. "Nighthawk has been—"

"Quagmire, I know," he landed, walking to the console. "What are his coordinates?" Kyle's current location was null, but the console had recorded his last known location. Quagmire generated a full holographic globe, and a small red dot formed near the north.

Hyperion sighed, pressing his hand to the bridge of his nose. "Quagmire, clear my schedule." The AI complied.

Kyle Richmond, playboy, billionaire, philanthropist, vigilante, locked in a cage in freaking Iceland of all places.

***

Nighthawk was in over his head, that he would acknowledge. But he didn't lose. He never lost. He would never lose, especially to a snotty nobody trying to be a HYDRA big shot.

But losing his ears didn't sound that bad, especially when he was stuck listening to the same voice monologue for the past seventeen minutes.

He cut him off, "That's where you're wrong." The surprised look on the head idiot's face was priceless. "I'm always one step ahead."

They didn't react. A few of them snorted, maybe in contempt or disbelief, but he stopped caring.

The room was soon bathed in red, and a female voice rang overhead. "Warning: we have a breach."

Typical response: panic, fear, a bit of wetting the pants. Then, the wall on the far end of his cell exploded, revealing a familiar face.

"Right on time, Hyperion." His friend smiled, taking his hand in his own. "Let's round up the team." His feet left the floor.

***

Marcus laughed, embracing his friend. "It's great to see you again, Kyle." There were a few highlights running through his hair and maybe his face was a bit sunken, but other than that the man was just as he remembered.

Kyle smiled. He turned towards the statues and his smile faded.

Marcus pulled away, following his line of sight. The last statue at the end of the line. "Hey," he placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "What happened wasn't your fault."

"Whose then?" He walked up to the statue, resting a hand on it's base. "Who did this to her? Who sent her out there?"

Sparrow's statue looked so much like her, but it wasn't real. It was cold, hard and it never smiled at anyone. But Kyle had to admit, Marcus did a good job at capturing her likeness. But what did he expect from a professional artist?

"I don't want to be rude," Marcus changed the subject. "But, I haven't seen you in years. What happened?"

Kyle turned away. "It's a long story."

Marcus smiled, clapping a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I've got time."