Avengers Draft


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The bolts of lightning Wiccan was throwing around were working great on the first few waves of robots attacking city hall. The people hiding inside were sure the worst was over. That was when the nanomachines inside some of the people started activating. Wiccan had little time to react to the Prime Sentinals coming out of cityhall.

"Crap, they're innocent people, can't blast them," he said.

They advanced inwards, starting to fire on the young mage.

"DeflectTheirLasersDeflectTheirLasersDeflectTheirLasers," He chanted, throwing up a sphere of blue energy.

THey slowly advanced until a bolt of blue lightning hit one of them. It convulsed as the nanites within drained out leaving an unconscious human on the ground. More of the nanites fell out of the other people. Slowly they were pulled into a silver sphere of metal and then fried with a final blast of electromagnetism. Billy let down the shield.

"Well, this should be interesting," Victor Mancha said.

"Thanks for the help. What did you do?" Billy asked.

"A little electricity laced with my own nanites and then I just overpowered their transmission and fried them out. Any other Prime Sentinels nearby are also likely to have been fried as well," Victor responded.

"Well then, want to take care of some more robots?" Mystic lightning arched in Wiccan's hands.

"I'm game, hombre," Victor said, his own electricity racing.

Victor Mancha


Victor Mancha (no alias) is the part robot/pat-human son of Ultron. Outside of being able to generate bursts of electromagnetic electricity and machine empathy, he's also pretty smart and pretty durable.

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Death is cold for mortals. For a god, however, death is nothing more than a transition. This time, the god of war did not rest in the fields of Elysium. He wasn't sure where he was, but he was at home. A bloodstained battlefield. Men falling left and right by his sword.

A spartan charges. It falls.

Ares: Fall, beast!


Ares: The god of war will not yield to you!

From behind, an arrow sinks into the sweat stained flesh of his shoulder, Ares grimaced, but did not cry out. He spun, cleaving another soldier through the waist. Trained eyes locked on the archer who dared to attack him, and charged.

Ares: You will suffer!

A high pitched whine ripped through the cacophony, the god of war reached the archer, raised his sword, and disappeared from the plane of the dead with a pop.


Ares is the Greek God of War. Through milennia of training, there is no one more vicious and skilled in combat, armed or unarmed than he. The only thing he loves more than combat is his human son, Alexander.


In a rare moment of relaxation, Theresa Cassidy put her feet up, and took a slow sip of wine. Her life had been a torrent of pain of late, her father's death, leaving X-Factor, and a... ...regrettable one night stand with Deadpool. But in this one moment, that didn't matter.

She silently sipped again, as a Dido song played low in the background. Outside, rain fell unevenly, pattering against the windows of her ancestral home. Her red hair fell in tresses as she hummed along, quietly.

Her song fell below the sound of a high pitched whine. Siryn's eyes flashed open.

Siryn: What in the name of shite is that?

She rose, trying to trace the source of the sound, but disappeared in a single pop.


Siryn is the daughter of the now deceased X-Man, Banshee. She shares his red hair and sonic scream, which allows her a variety of powers, including flight.


The world believed Eric O'Grady was dead. Thankfully, he wasn't. The suit had seen to that, hiding his vital signs long enough to get the beating to stop. From there, it was the simple matter of shrinking small enough to escape, and running like hell. Surprisingly, Nick Fury had been more than happy to help Eric hide, despite his history with SHIELD. Currently, he was running a black ops intelligence mission in exchange for his continued safety.

He was the size of an ant, clinging to the skirt of a Doombot, as it spoke into a monitor.

Ant-Man: Clanging against a metal crotch. Should have just let them kill me.

He recorded the Doombot's words. In his ear-comm, Fury encouraged him.

Fury: Nice work, kid. This should help us find Doom's next move.

A high pitched whine cut through the ear-comm.

Ant-Man: Copy, Director. We're getting some feedback, can you have the tech geeks look at the feed? Bilbo or something?

The whine increased, ripping into O'Grady's head. But the suffering quit quickly, as he popped into nothingness.


Eric O'Grady is Ant-Man, but he is *not* a hero. He can shrink, he can grow, but no matter what size, he's always a giant asshole.

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I had to restrain myself from picking her after the X-draft, don't want to have my two teams be incompatible if they're going to be in the same universe.

The exact reason I won't pick Deadpool.

...That and Deadpool on the fucking Avengers seems wrong.

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Ava knew she heard something, but she wasn't sure where it was coming from. Her amulet amplified her senses beyond those of the animal that was her totem. Still, she couldn't place the direction from whence it came.


Whatever it was, she thought, it must be transmitting telepathically. She pulled on her leotard as her amulet called out to her. Stretching the mask over her face, she already felt like she was becoming. It was always in her. It is her birthright, It is in her blood.

Whoever it is that is summoning her, they will either get the help they need, or they will discover that White Tiger's attention is not to be trifled with.


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From the audio diary of Dr. Henry McCoy.

April 8

It feels wrong to say that this illness is spreading, considering I still don't know the causes. It feels even moreso to ask these women to walk around with an airsick bag at all times, but time is not on our side here.

Nonetheless, there have been two more cases.

Karolina Dean supplied me with an additional sample of Kulomium. The sudden pregnancy has understandably caused some issues with her current relationship, so I didn't need to say much to earn her cooperation. If kept below –63.5 degrees, the samples remain stable longer, but still not enough to run anywhere near the number of tests that I require.

The second case, quite literally, landed on my doorstep. I don't know how she got here. She's been unconscious for hours. Even if awake, I fear I wouldn't get much in the way of answers, considering she doesn't speak.

Her name is... well, it's complicated. Most refer to her as Hollow.


A mutant with exceptionally durable skin, most of her Kulomium traces appear to be seeping from her eyes. Due to the nature of her powers, the samples appear completely stable. In a matter of seconds, I should have a detailed report on what exactly it is we're dealing with here, and from there, perhaps, a way to stop it.

(Sounds of an inkjet printer in the distance, followed by papers rustling.)

...this is...

(More rustling.)

... oh my stars and garters...

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