A Complicated Business

[Sans]

Marlin Dustin lifted his blue quill from the tips of the parchment, looking over his writing, if it could be called that. Ink splotches covered the paper where the mangled words did not; it was impossible to tell if his writing was a strange form of cursive or even if it was just some odd language of the Deeps. He gave it another glance over; the message was readable, at the very least.

He looked over his shoulder, the door to his study closed and locked tight. No one could interrupt him, yet despite this, he felt the urge to make sure. After double-checking, he turned back to the parchment, setting his quill into the ink jar next to it. He stood up, picked up the parchment, and walked towards the nearby window. He opened it, whistling into the breeze.

No sooner did he do this than a raven no bigger than his clenched fist swooped down from the skies towards him. The bird perched on the windowsill, cocking its head in curiosity.

“Take this, Ratchet,” he said, placing the rolled-up parchment next to the avian creature, “make sure it gets to the Avengers. They have to know what is happening here.”

The crow did as it was told. It opened its long, slender beak, and picked up the piece of paper. The messenger then flew off into the sky, glowing gold bits of omnillium falling from its form before disappearing.

Dustin sighed, bringing his rankled hands to the pockets of his oversized overcoat. Now came phase two.

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

Rando Le Terz… yes, that was its name. It was known amongst the inhabitants as just “Rando Island,” because calling it “Rando Le Terz Island” was both silly and too much wording for a single sentence. It was a solitary island, located a fair distance away from the bigger islands close to Costa Del Sol, which meant a lot less tourism for the island’s steady increase of population. And why would there be? After all, the island had one notable aspect of it that separated it from most others: the fog. The whole land-mass was covered in an almost impossible to see through haze. It stretched from the ground, all the way up to the tallest building in the city of Lando: the clock tower. Most every citizen that lived there had to contend with the dreadful humidity and the sweat that came with it, not to mention the unbearable rain that soaked the town every weekend or so. In fact, it was raining at that very moment; thundering, to be exact. A soft patter-patter of raindrops upon stone slabs was audible everywhere one went, unless they were underneath one of the many palm trees and rain-forests on the island; in which case, you’d hear the soft patter-patter of raindrops upon thick, green leaves.

The overcoat-wearing man walked through the central square of Lando, hands in his pockets and a blue feather in his brown cap. He glanced around the crowded street, studying the facial features of the people there. They were smiling, each and every one of them. He would smile too, if he didn’t know the truth. After all, the fog was only an annoyance; it could be tolerated given the right amount of incentives to stay. He passed by market-stands, selling all types of commodities: jewels from the deep, the most regal of clothing, and best of all, the prized sugarcane. He couldn’t list a single person on Rando Le Terz who didn’t want a bite of sugarcane, including himself. Demand for it was as high as the sky, and the supply for it always even higher. Anyone who got their sugarcane always walked away with a smile on their face, or their money back guaranteed.

He closed his eyes as he lowered his head, shivering in the rain. How had he never known? After years of signing documents, forging permits, and throwing the law off of his back, how had he never thought about this prior to right now? The truth was, he hadn’t. His old, bony hands yearned for the ink and feather, and his brain shut down upon landing the job. He could be as creative as he wanted, and write whatever he wanted, as long as he did what they said. For years, he did what they said, and had never considered what would happen if he did not do what they said until only a few days prior. With what he saw, rebellion was both an inviting and paranoia-inducing act.

It’s for the best, he reasoned. He had sent the message. There was no going back now.

He raised his head, looking towards “Bobby’s General Goods” store. A nice store; a pretty one, too, with the multi-colored flowers inside decorated pots on the windowsill of the shop. People poured in and out of the store, each with goods to peddle or goods that had been bought. The archaic lights inside provided a warm and welcoming sight; it provided enough heat to make even the ones with the wettest of clothing and the worst of colds snug and cozy. Right outside the door to the shop was a wooden sign, almost invisible in the sea mist, that held a silver sword in the middle.

Dustin gulped, taking a deep breath. He walked towards the shop and leaned against the walls of the building, his blue feather a beacon in the sight-screwing foam. Water dripped from his hat and his nose, so drenched was every bit of his body. But he was going to wait. No matter how long it would take, come hell or high water, from dusk to dawn.

He was going to see justice be served.

[Centurion]

The ride was quiet. Despite the excitement of a new mission, neither Captain America nor Marcus Wright spoke a word. The silence was underlined by the quiet hum of the Quinjet's engines and intermittent clatters of buckles and loose gear bumping around during times of turbulence. Cap slid his finger over the blunted edge of his star-spangled shield rhythmically, creating a monotonous music with the other ambient noises throughout the vehicle. He glanced carefully at Marcus, studying him for a moment, before redirecting his attention to his composing.
The terminator was most certainly confident. Not in himself, not really, but in the mission. In him. Cap was used to responsibility. He'd been leading others into battle since 1941. However, the strange atmosphere of the Omniverse was undermining his nerves. The Avenger had traveled between dimensions, yes. However this... collection of worlds set him on edge. His thinking had been erratic. The training sessions he struggled through time and time again at the Tower had shown him that. The split second delays, the momentary hesitations. It made him question whether or not he could really lead another team of Avengers. Besides, this new team had been around barely a month and It was already depleted by two members, two others away on missions.
That left no-one but Captain America and Marcus Wright to handle things. A bleep sliced through the silent tension, snpping both heroes to attention. Cap and Macrus glanced at each other and the Captain stood. he walked over to the primary console and tapped the screen. The words "Flight Path Complete: Arrival Imminent" caused his heart to pound. For years, Captain America had been leading men into warzones, into the unknown. Now it was the Captain being baited into a misunderstood mystery to meet a stranger. Cap headed past Marcus and towards the bay doors.
"Go time, soldier."
That was all he could squeeze past the tightening of his throat. it was then, in the split second before Cap jumped from the Quinjet that he realized why he felt so... wrong. Despite the shield, the uniform, and the Avengers, This was no longer Captain America: The First Avenger leaping into battle. This was Steve Rogers, a scared little kid from Manhattan with no-one, dropping into a possible trap. He pushed that aside and gripped his shield tighter. This was no time for self-reflection. Right now he had a job to do, and by God he planned to do it. So he jumped.

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

Finally, the long trudge through the murky waters and foggy swamps was over. Cap and Marcus approached the outskirts of a small town, the dim lights shining like the eyes of a great beast through the mist. Rogers slung his shield over his shoulder and slipped into his overcoat. His new and stealthier armor now hidden, he motioned for Marcus to follow before plunging into the mass of people. A surprising amount of smiling faces bombarded Cap, despite the seemingly shady overtones of the town. Citizens, hawking their wares and peddling their goods lined the path. Despite his wide shoulders, Cap moved gracefully through the crowd, smiling back and kindly refusing offers of fresh sugarcane, his training with S.H.I.E.L.D. snapping to the forefront of his mind. through all of this madness however, Rogers was looking for one thing only, a blue feathered hat.
His enhanced perception allowed him to observe every line in every person's face, almost memorizing their appearance. It also allowed him to take note of the cobalt quill that shone through the fog, highlighted by a lantern that hung loosely beside a sign emblazoned with a silver sword. He gently moved through the crows and approached a frail old man, soaked to the bone by the heavy mists.
"Evening, sir." Steve greeted. The man glanced up from beneath his cap quizzically. Cap slid a spare Avengers patch from a side pocket and displayed it discreetly. "I believe you wanted to talk?"

[Marcus Wright]

Marcus looked over at the Captain for a second, his false eyes studying the man before slightly tapping his fingers along the seat.

On the other hand, he had wondered about if he himself really could stop Skynet from causing anymore damage to the Omniverse without help. He knew he had ripped the chip out from his head but he felt more like a team.

He had confidence in the mission, but he wondered what was really going on. They embarked on a mission with little knowledge about the client themselves. They could be walking into a trap for all he knew.

The terminator squeezed his fist and looked down. Skynet was out there still and he was up here. Skynet could get to him here, what about the plane? It could be choatic.

He’d take the blame if Skynet somehow was responsible for more.

As the Captain heard the words “Flight Path Complete: Arrival Imminent.”, he ran to the jump point and Marcus followed soon after.

After the landing, and trudging through muddy waters, The terminator was muddied for the time being.

It was times like these Marcus wanted his old “resistance” coat back that he slipped off a dead resistance fighter.

Marcus closed his eyes and summoned a exact copy of the trench coat he wore a while back.

It appeared on him and Marcus caught up with the stealthier Captain America. The peddlers tried to sell their wares, but Marcus wasn’t all that hungry if he could eat. He saw Captain America stop and finally found the mystery man in question.

The blue hat with the feather. There was their client.

Marcus eyed the man and crossed his arms, eyeing Captain America trusting him to do the talking so far.

[Sans]

Raindrops dripped down from his nose despite every attempt he made to stop it. The torrent seemed only to grow stronger as he waited, silent, for the heroes to come. The lantern hanging above him blew with the massive breeze, its metal cage beating against the wall. More and more people were entering the buildings around him as the rainstorm continued, the haze surrounding the village turning everything into an indistinguishable mess where you couldn’t see two feet in front of you. Or at least it seemed that way to Marlin. To the younger folk around him, it was probably just another regular day in Lando City, a place of joy, of happiness, and where the worries of the world no longer mattered. Even the bitter cold of the piercing water, the blinding mist, and the treacherous swamps could not down their spirits.

They were fools. They were all fools. Yet he could not blame them. They did not know what he knew.

He watched the crowd around him, his green eyes scanning for the Avengers. Seconds passed, followed by minutes, and there was still no sign of them. His heart sank lower and lower with each moment that went by; had Ratchet not gotten through? He was certain his message had been sent successfully! Had he not been careful enough? Maybe that was the case; Bolero must have seen the crow and had it shot down before it could reach them. He should’ve known he wasn’t going to get away with it. You never could in this city, on this island. Yet he had taken all of the necessary precautions! How could he have have been wrong?

He felt exposed all of a sudden. If Ratchet had been shot, then what if they deciphered his message? What if they identified his alibi? If they put two and two together...

He gulped, his heart pounding. He could not stay; he had to run. If he was lucky...

He was just about to get moving when he saw two figures approach, and his heart almost skipped a few beats. Both of them wore overcoats of some description, and while they were unrecognizable, Dustin knew this was it. He had been caught; the Avengers would never figure out what happened.

He sighed, remaining silent as they closed in. His muscles tensed and braced for the barrage of questions and beatings he was going to receive.

"Evening, sir,” one of them then said, reaching into his pocket. The writer looked up to him, his fear replaced by both curiosity and disbelief. His eyes glanced down towards the man’s hand: a patch with the Avengers symbol on it.

It got through… I can’t believe it.

He bit his lip, nodding. His heartbeat slowed to a more reasonable level as he motioned them to come inside. He then strolled into the shop, the other two close behind.

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

The nice thing about Bobby’s General Goods was that it wasn’t JUST a general goods store. After all, with the rain and fog, people who were caught in the storms needed a place to stay. So, after requests and some financial support, the owner, Bobby Rhydu, had been able to set up a sort of mini inn and tavern within his shop. Next to the racks of necklaces, knicknacks, and gear that strewed the walls near the counter to the left of the building was an array of tables, most of which had already been filled prior to the trio entering the building. A wood stove was lit close by to the tables, bathing the room in orange light that complemented the glowing, golden colors of the lanterns inside. Several patrons were taking advantage of the fire, their blue, clammy hands outstretched next to the licking heat.

The defector led the two Avengers to the counter, whistling to get the attention of the bartender. Like everyone else, he was smiling a big, goofy smile. He never realized just how unnerving the man's toothy, almost clown-like smile was until he really looked at it. How this had all slipped past his mind, how this had gone unnoticed, was a question he could never answer.

“Marlin! Long time, no see, brother!” he said, holding his hand out to shake. The old man flinched a bit, staring at the man’s hand before reaching towards it. They shook for a few moments, the old man’s grip loose.

“Yes, it’s been… quite a while indeed, mister Rhydu,” he said, bringing his hand back to gesture to the two Avengers near him, “may I have a, um… table for three, please?”

“Easy as pie!” Rhydu said, pointing towards one of the open tables near the fire, “I’ll get a waiter over there as soon as possible! Glad you’re back with us, Dustin!”

“Yes, it is a very good thing indeed…” he said, moving the others with him towards the table assigned for them. They took a seat, and before anything else could happen, Dustin took a look around. His intent for doing so became clear as soon as he whispered the following:

“Were you followed here?”

[Centurion]

Something was off. It wasn't the shady alleyways, mysterious fog, or ominous rain that gave Captain America this feeling, however. It was the old man. Despite Cap's every intention to hear the man out, he had the strangest inclination to turn around, apologize and say he had the wrong man, and return to the Quinjet. Fortunately for the old man, Captain Roger's confidence in himself and his teammate was unshaken, leaving retreat as a last resort. If worst came to worst, he could fight his way out. When he saw a situation pointed south, Captain America could never walk away.

The elderly gentlemen, soaked as he was, led both Avengers into the building. Cap's eyes snapped around the room, absorbing its layout and cast of rather disconcerting characters. There was something off about the bartender too. However, that's not where Cap's attention was, so it was left to his subconscious to interpret the old man's mumblings to his apparent companion. But there was no way, despite his concentration being on other things, that Cap would have missed that smile.

The three men moved to a table in the back, Rogers taking a chair facing the door for security purposes, and sat down. The older gentleman glanced around nervously. It was these minuscule gestures and perturbed Captain America. Every minor nuance of the old man's tone, every twitch in his wrinkled face, told a deeper story than "woodenpickle's" message could have.

Following his scan of the room, the old man leaned in and whispered harshly. "Were you followed here?"

"No," the Captain answered. "I received a message that suggested you were in need of help. Something about pirates?"

The old man motioned frantically yet discreetly for Cap to lower his voice. "The walls have ears, Captain."

Cap nodded in apology. "Before we get involved, we could use some insight into this-"

The waiter's approach cut Cap off and forced him to stimulate a simple smile. Something was off. Captain America could feel it.

[Marcus Wright]

The rain was running off Marcus’s face and as he sat down with Captain America, he could instantly notice a sign that the man felt uneasiness around here.

Marcus eyed the Captain, slightly whispering to him “This doesn’t feel right to me either”

Marcus could feel his temper slight growing as the man kept cutting the Captain off at every term, was there something this man wasn’t telling them?

But he had to control his temper,
Only when there was a real threat going on around them.

He couldn’t just punch this guy just because he and the cap felt strange around this guy.

Marcus sat down and looked at the waiter’s approach, the terminator man still trying to hide his displeasure.

[Sans]

"How may I help you fine gentlemen on this wonderful evening?" said the waiter, notepad in hand and quill pressed against the paper, prepared to write down their orders.

Marlin flinched, looking up to the man. Like all the others, he had a wide, clown-like grin. What set his face apart from some of the others, however, was the rolled-up piece of papyrus in his lips, the end smoking a silver ash. He reached down towards his breast pocket and pulled out a metallic lighter; he lit up the cigar, moaning.

"Umm..." Dustin said, scanning his menu for a few moments before saying, "just... three glasses of wine, please. For all of us."

"Extra sugar?"

"...Sure..."

The waiter jotted down their orders. As he walked away, the trio could hear him hum a short little ditty to himself, like an early bird tweeting to an approaching sunrise.

The writer looked towards the two Avengers, his heart pounding with every second that passed. They said nothing, but as their eyes met, he knew that they were doubtful. That they did not trust him. Why wouldn't they? They had been led onto an island with no information as to what was going on, met a nervous old man who hadn't even been kind enough to provide them his correct name, and to top it all off, the island was foggy, rainy, and filled with the happiest, most peaceful people in the Omniverse. He knew that was why they were suspicious. After years of seeing the same old faces, feeling the same emotions, of enjoying the same job countless times, seeing normalcy was far too easy to spot.

But he had to tell them, and fast. He glanced around, observing the faces of the other patrons. Big, toothy grins; teeth white and gold and sometimes rotten; faces looking almost like masks to hide the truth. Their eyes, wide as can be, held brightness, yet they never blinked, never removed their gaze from another when they spoke. But their eyes were also glassy, as if they were just two squishy balls inside a hollow sphere meant to resemble a skull. A pale imitation of a man, of a woman, of a child. Of a human.

They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. That they reveal a man's darkest secrets, reveal his truest thoughts, and his realest emotions. But these eyes, the ones he had looked into for years. They were empty; they held nothing. He didn't even know if any of them were truly thinking throughout their everyday life, or even cared.

He was not going to take a chance, though.

Leaning forward, he whispered towards the duo.

"Listen, I understand you have your doubts, but you have to believe me when I say that I had no other option in the matter. I couldn't afford getting caught. But we need your help. Everyone here needs your help."

He raised his hand, trying his best to remain discreet as he pointed it towards various people in the building.

"Look around. Their faces... don't you see what I see? I can't trust my better judgement. I have to know. Is it all natural?"

[Centurion]

Cap scanned the room, the old man's words swimming about in his mind. If there was one thing he had noticed, it was that none of this was natural. Not the people, not their faces, not even the meeting itself. Turning back to the writer, Captain America shook his head.

"No, it isn't. Is this what you wanted to talk about?"

The old man's frantic expression worried Rogers to no end, and the glassy expression on those around him didn't help. Their expressions were disturbing to even his iron will. His enhanced perception only made looking around more difficult. He could see every pore, every line on their faces stretched to a breaking point. He most certainly knew something was wrong, but he didn't quite know what it was.

Once again, the waiter returns, disrupting the conversation. With a mad yet bland grin on his face, he placed down three glasses of crimson wine, each thick with extra sugar. There was something wrong. Even if there wasn't there was no need to worry, it was better to be safe. Cap smiled warmly at the waiter but didn't drink. If this man was going to continue interrupting their conversation, they would have to move their loccation to somewhere more private.

[Marcus Wright]

Marcus forced a smile onto his face as he forced himself to sit down again. This time the waiter came back with wine with extra sugar. Marcus eyes the Captain and pretends to drink the wine.

"I don't drink. Excuse me a second."

Marcus made a exit for a second and stood outside for some fresh air.

"Bullshit" Marcus proceeded to mutter as he proceeded to fakely puke.

[Sans]

“Yes, precisely,” he said, keeping his voice down as the Captain looked around, shaking his head at the sight of all of the smiling people, “that is exactly why I brought you here.”

And with that, he leaned forward, placing hands on both of their shoulders. To onlookers, the trio looked a group of conspirators plotting a foul mission, and, in all fairness, they were. But they had to understand what it was they were seeing; if they did not, no one could be saved. Worst of all, he could not be saved. He had no time; he didn’t know when it was going to happen; all he knew was that, if he waited any longer, he would forget it at any moment.

“These people you see are all under the effects of a narcotic,” he said, his lip’s close to the Captain’s ear as he looked around, as if showcasing the people to him like a lawyer presenting evidence, “the narcotic is known scientifically as Riscus Herbas, and colloquially as ‘Sugercane.’ It’s a… happy drug; it kills all negative emotions, gives you a massive high for days on end.”

He would have continued his talking if not for the untimely arrival of the waiter. His smile didn't waver, though he did give an odd look towards Dustin himself as he shot back towards his chair. Without another word, the waiter had set three glasses of wine on the table, each containing several chunks of purplish, crystallized sugar floating in the center. Neither Avenger drank; they knew what would happen if they did, and even if they somehow did not, they were far too suspicious of everyone else to trust it.

Marlin, however, stared at the glasses, his lips quivering and his hand shaking. The scent was astoundingly good; so sweet, so succulent, so enticing. The taste of such delicious alcohol was so familiar that he could practically feel it on his tongue at that very moment! The feeling of a warm pint of mead and wine, laced with sugar, travelling down into the belly and hearts of men. It was the stuff comprised of the most delightful of grapes, fresh fruits, and spices; it was the stuff composed by the most masterful of bartenders and farmers; it was the stuff to die for; it was the stuff to kill for.

Any other man would not have resisted it; they would have drank each glass dry and succumb to the warm buzz of sugar-laced wine and drink. But the old man knew better, and now, the Avengers knew better too.

Now, no matter what happened next, they could stop this madness. Stop the sorrows of happiness forever.

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

The rain continued to pepper the streets of Lando City, and thusly, Marcus himself. As he continued his act, rain drenched his overcoat, the back of his hair, and his skin. His hands on his knees, he raised his head up to look around. The fog blocked his vision almost entirely, with the only source of light being the glowing, metallic lanterns hung up near the entrance of the shop. His eyes scanned the area in front of him, shadows of people filling the mist but providing no extra details. One sight did strike him, though, and it was the sight of a group of silhouettes, no bigger than four, beginning to approach the shop.

The question now, was, were they friendly, or were they normal?

[Centurion]

Sugercane. So Captain America was in a city populated by people addicted to a so-called 'happy drug'. He took another sweep of the room after the old man's explanation, noting the waiter's return. As he had steeled in his heart already, Cap spared nothing but a polite glance at the glass. However, he could not say the same for his elderly companion. Sweat beaded on Marlin's brow and he quivered ever so slightly, but slightly enough for Cap's heightened perception to note. The older man was struggling with taking a sip. In all truth, Steve was as well. His sharp nose absorbed the intoxicating scents, his attention consistently grappled by the vibrant color of the liquid. Thankfully, Cap's resolve held fast.

  The old man seemed to share in the Captain's resilience and in the end refused the drink, putting Cap's nerves at ease. Marcus had already taken his leave, something was obviously upsetting him. Cap silently willed Marcus to return, his every instinct screaming that this place was unsafe. As an almost comedic contrast, Rogers' near paranoia made no break in his straightforward expression. He did, however, allow himself the indulgent luxury of thumbing the straps of his shield, hidden beneath his thick coat. Cap nodded finally, accepting what the old man had said as true.

"Then we have a job to do. Problem is, we won't just be fighting the bad guys, or this drug. We'll be fighting every innocent civilian on this island to keep them from what they want." 

Cap stood up with a polite smile.

"I should talk to Marcus."

  Cap had half a mind to tell Marcus to go home. The first avenger was extremely confident in his own abilities, and nowhere near doubted Marcus', but his gut instinct told him that the terminator wouldn't be able to keep up. They just weren't used to each other. If Vision was here, Cap could easily bounce ideas and plans off of the android. But now? Now, Captain America was about to step out into the rain, surrounded by drug-laden smiles, to speak to someone he still considered a stranger. He glanced back to the old man to gauge a reaction.

"I'll be just outside. If you need anything," Cap handed him a small communicator engraved with the familiar 'A' of the Avengers. "I'll be there."

With that, Captain America stepped back outside and back into the unknown.

[Marcus Wright]

Marcus’s own human mind was spinning. His impatience got the best of him and he found himself walking away from the first avenger and the so-called happy people. Other parts of him screamed to come back and face Captain America like a real man.

Then again, the Avengers could never accept an ex-criminal in their ranks. It just seemed wrong to drag all the problems of his past into the superhero team. Was his walking away really that bad?

He had to admire the Captain’s sense of resilience going into something that they had never gone into.

However, the man was no soldier like the Good Captain. He was a terminator built by Skynet where there was no second chances. Maybe John Connor was right, he faced himself in a mirror. Could a terminator have a soul?

Last time he checked, he did.

So he took a walk, a long one until he found himself holding his knees. Something strange was happening. The town had mysteriously filled itself with fog and it was blocking both Marcus’s own mechanical and human vision. But he could make out four shapes walking toward the shop, the folks and supposedly Captain America.

Marcus had to blink several times. If these “silhouettes” were indeed enemies. He would have to risk fighting them off himself outside the shop, if Captain America wasn’t around.

But if they were normal, he’d have to take his chances.

Marcus stared into the fog, his hands ready to fight if need be.

“Who are you! Show yourself!”

[Sans]

Marcus’ words rang out, echoing through the mist. All was quiet for a few moments; no one responded to his call. Then, all around him, from the buildings around, slid windows and doors. People of various sizes and shapes, all smiling like that of a serial killer, poked their heads out to hear the commotion. The ones in the streets all turned to him simultaneously, staring at him with big, bulging eyes and massive, uncanny smiles. The old man, Marlin Dustin himself, had moved towards the entrance of Bobby’s General Goods, staring in shock at the scene. Wright’s own eyes widened as he realized what he had done; by chancing it, he had drawn unneeded attention to himself.

He was about to turn back towards the shop when he felt a hand press itself against his shoulder. He looked behind him; the Captain America.

“What are you doing?” he said, keeping his voice low as he glanced around. No one had moved from their respective spots.

“I saw a group of shadows coming our way, Cap!” the cyborg responded, fully aware of the situation they were in. He quickly looked back to where he last saw them.

They had moved, and they moved towards them.

Stepping out from the shadows, with a pipe in his snout and a cocky smirk on his face, was a fox. An obvious standout, considering most every other inhabitant of the island was humanoid in appearance at least. The fox stood as high as Marcus’ knees, with orange-colored fur and a long, bushy tail. He wore a giant fishing hat on his head, pools of water occasionally spilling out over the edges due to how big it was. Even within the rain, the glowing bottom half of his pipe was visible from any distance, especially up close.

One would likely not view him as a person of any significance if it wasn’t for his three bodyguards, and they were obviously bodyguards. They stood tall beside him, muscular and silent. But was perhaps most apparent about them were their faces. They did not smile, for they appeared incapable of such an act. Their faces were glowing red, their eyes almost popping out of their sockets as they vibrated with such intensity. Bits of yellow froth spewed from underneath their inflamed eye glands every few moments, with spit occasionally flowing from the sides of their swollen mouths and tongues. The fox removed the pipe from his mouth, puffing out a ring of smoke before passing it towards the guard on his left. The guard did not hesitate to put it into his mouth, hyperventilating in anticipation.

The small mammal walked forward, hands to his side, as he gazed up towards the two newcomers. He cocked an eyebrow as he looked towards Marcus.

“We have shown ourselves,” he said, “and now, I must ask, who are you?”

Before they could respond, he raises his paw, gesturing for a handshake.

“To whom it may concern, I am Mayor N. Rando, the humble leader of Rando Island. I hope you are enjoying your stay here, despite the awful weather!”

[Marcus Wright]

Marcus had to quiet himself after he noticed Captain America’s hand softly tap on his shoulder and speak quietly.

He had caused more trouble for the group and even he knew this. A strange, fuzzy but cocky fox walked toward the terminator and his Avenger buddy.  It rather felt awkward having a small animal who talked standing near his legs. He eyed the bodyguards and could smell the putrid smell of whatever sugary substance they were trying to serve them at the restaurant.

Marcus bent down and shook the small fox’s hand “Mayor Rando, huh? Let’s say I’ve never met a sentient talking animal as… charming as you.”

It was clear whatever this substance was, it probably changed these citizens into “Happy freaks”.

Marcus eyed Captain America, as he also bent down and shook the fox’s hand. He was a little less trustful of these people as he thought he was but he spoke his name out, quietly.

“Name’s… Marcus..

“So… Rando.. Island, how did you get to actually run this… island anyways?”

[Sans]

“Pleasure to make both of your acquaintance,” said the mayor, shaking both of the newcomer’s hands. He kept a bold smile on his face, one that screamed confidence. It was the smile of a god, so to speak, painted on the lips of an anthropomorphic canine and though despite his stature, the way he stood with his chin high, an assuming look in his eye and his paws behind his back, combined with the guards at his side, all pointed to a mammal who commanded respect and demanded it too.

His citizens watched as the event unfolded in front of them, bloodshot eyes and slasher smiles never wavering as the pleasantries took place. While the visitors were more than likely not amused, if not downright frightened, occurrences like these were merely a day in the life of a mayor. It wasn't like there was much of a difference in behavior between them and his citizens, however. He had met other outsiders before in between the one year it had been since he became the Mayor of Rando Island, and they were always the same somehow. They always reacted the same way to the same things. They found it odd to see a bunch of smiling humans walking around in the rain, smoking the latest in terms of drugs and drinking the latest in terms of drink. And here they were, surrounded by the smiles of all those that stared at the scene. 

He casually lifted his paw, waving off those observing them. Soon, the citizens of Lando were back on to living their daily lives through the fog and rain, leaving the two outsiders to him. The human in front of him, the one that wore a thick trench coat and had called himself Marcus, asked him about how he had first obtained the island. He chuckled, shivering in the rain as it beat down upon them.

“A combination of luck, economics, and excellent policies concocted by yours truly,” he replied almost immediately, snapping his fingers and gesturing for his pipe. His bodyguard let out an exasperated moan as he removed the pipe from his lips, handing it to the fox. “I defeated my political opponent in a landslide victory, and I have been striving to lead my citizens to prosperity ever since.”

He brought out a lighter, applying the flame to the underside of his pipe. The bottom end glowed as brightly as his amber eyes as he inhaled, smoke rising out of his nostrils.

“And I say that we’re getting closer to prosperity each day.”

He looked into the fog, watching his citizens traveling all throughout his city, selling their wares, and smiling to themselves in such a blissful manner. Months of hard work leading up to a resounding success of a city and a population. A happy populace, a stable economy funded by various economic activities, and a leader who oversaw it all and kept the water-wheels turning with every passing day. It was an absolute dream come true.

He turned back to the newcomers, a toothy grin plastered on his face. For all intents and purposes, he looked just like every other citizen within the city. But, unlike all of his loyal subjects, he was different. They only had to look into his eyes. They were not hollow; they held life.

And those eyes were staring at them, studying them. They first settled on Marcus himself. A regular human a good height above him and with a large, black trench coat around his torso and shoulders. He held himself high, his chest out and his arms to the side but clearly at the ready; he carried himself with strength, and maintained an aura of toughness that the fox could easily feel. He quickly adjusted his eyes to the other newcomer. Somehow, the other human, despite being barely taller in length, was far more muscular in build, with the lines of his muscles obvious even underneath the cover of his overcoat. He predicted the man could lift two men with both hands if he truly desired, though whether or not he would want to was a mystery to him. His face possessed no such real emotions. But, like a marksman’s gaze, he was alert, ready for anything.

They could be useful.

“Now, with all pleasantries aside, I’d like to how long you are staying on my island or if you are here to visit. Perhaps you wish to trade your wares? Omni knows we could use some additional supplies thanks to all those pirates.”

[Centurion]

Cap furrowed his brow in a combination of surprise and interest. The mystery on this island had only grown more intriguing with the appearance of the mayor. The mammal spoke with confidence and appropriate diction. He called for a pipe, forcing a guard to sacrifice his smoky solace, and lit it calmly. The mayor was nothing if not relaxed. The Avenger instantly took note of the fox's piercing amber eyes and the way they took in every detail of both men's faces and forms. The canine clearly had a hidden agenda, something Captain America was never very keen on. But first things first...

"Mister Mayor, I'm here on behalf of a group of... gifted people with a mind to help people in need. We received an anonymous tip that something was going on here on Randall's Island. With your permission, we'd like to launch a formal investigation into whatever is causing problems here."

  Cap spoke with practiced confidence, one of the many diplomatic tricks he had picked up out of necessity. He picked his words cautiously, careful not to reveal his true identity or purpose. The mayor's attitude and claims to 'prosperity' piqued the Avenger's suspicions, given the strange state of the townsfolk. He kept his gaze steady, never glancing away from the deep, golden orbs of the mayor. Steve only hoped that Marcus could manage to play along.

[Marcus Wright]

Marcus eyed the small fox and lifted himself back up. He dusted what little dirt there was off his trench coat and frowned, making sure there were no emotions giving away what he felt. Marcus’s outside thoughts, collided with his inner thoughts.


From his machinery supported brain, he studied the fox with hidden cyborg eyes piercing underneath his fake eyes. Everything wasn’t calm and relaxing on this island, and the mayor seemingly was the only non-zombie on this island. With pieces of Skynet still remaining, he was able to study the small fox’s eyes looking for emotions inside.


Marcus’s eyes were cold, but they never left the fox’s…


He didn’t say it but the confident grin of the fox meant he and Captain had to be very cautious of any other thing offered to them by the “gracious” citizens. Somehow he wasn’t believing the whole the Mayor was clean. Perhaps there was more to this story nobody was telling them. Hidden agendas were worse.


Marcus could've been finding Skynet… near the arcades of Coursecant… but he wanted to do something good, for the second time in his life. Marcus maintained a sense of calm to match the mayor's. Perhaps he could use this against him. Fire vs Fire.


Never mess with a terminator with a mission and the Avengers.

[Sans]

The fox was forced to suppress a cringe as the muscular soldier-looking human misspoke the name of his own island. He got this every time some newcomer arrived on his island. They would show up, enter his city, and when he walked up to introduce himself and say ‘Welcome,’ they would reply with ‘Hi! Is this Randall’s Island?’ It’s as if the people that bothered to come to his mud puddle excuse of a vacation spot weren’t even concerned with trying to pronounce its NAME correctly. They probably didn’t, come to think of it. Why would they, if it was just a mudhole in the middle of the goddamn ocean?

He bit his lower lip, making sure his smile was still intact as he listened intently to the muscular man. He did not respond for a few seconds as he frowned.

“A formal investigation, you say?”

He did not continue talking after that sentence, choosing instead to light his smoke pipe. He inhaled, smoky tendrils seeping up through the nostrils of his snout. For a brief moment, he removed his gaze from the two visitors. Or, should he now say, intruders?

It didn’t require a detective to figure out what they were investigating here. The Empire had certainly gotten a lot more unconventional in its pickings for their investigators in the past year, if the fact that they allowed people who passed more as henchmen of a mafia gang into their ranks was any indication. Fitting, too, of the Empire to do that. Send thugs to his island to intimidate him into giving it up. They weren’t afraid to go low, but at least before they had class about it. A nice man in a white suit with a big fake smile on his face as he walked with his two buddy bodyguards with shiny armor plating and greeted the inhabitants, tried out the food, etcetera, etcetera. Wouldn’t have been nearly as annoying if they arrived with different purposes in mind, but no, it was always about the same thing. At some point, one would wonder why they even bothered after a while. They got no results from doing it, after all.

Yet, despite all that, when he looked back at the duo, studying them, he couldn’t help but feel his ears start to twitch. They always did that when he was caught in these types of situations. He had trained himself to hide a tell like that, but times like these never failed to bring back the habit. He brushed them back, hiding them behind his head. He took a deep breath; he had to keep his cool.

Thinking quickly, he responded. “Well, sir, I’d be more than willing to help you, but I have a slight… discrepancy in staff at the moment that’ll halt the whole thing if I don’t find him.”

“Discrepancy?” said the Captain, a quizzical look on his face. Marcus merely stared at the canine, his eyes looking as cold and unfeeling as the dead eyes of the public.

“My legal adviser,” said the Mayor as he sighed and shook his head, “he just stopped showing up to work one day. I sent out people to look for him and everything, but no luck. It’s been weeks since we last saw him.”

Maybe that’s what was making his ears so twitchy all of a sudden. His legal adviser held enough knowledge of the law, and, more importantly, EMPIRE law, that any investigation like this would have been rendered moot within hours. Then he just ups and disappears off the face of the island without so much as a leave of absence note.

He glanced away from the duo once again, ignoring whatever looks they might have been giving him at the time. He felt his teeth clamp extremely tightly on the wood of his pipe, as if to snap it into two; he couldn’t help but both want to tear apart his legal adviser for leaving unannounced and causing so many problems unexpectedly and just feel saddened by him not being there. The man just always knew what to say, how to say it, what to use, what not. There wasn’t a law in the book he couldn’t exploit. He was a perfect match for him.

His amber eyes pierce the bodies of the two detectives as he gazed back at them, taking a deep breath.

“Sorry,” he said, “I’m just… reminiscing… right now. Could just be the rain, though. Believe it or not, weather impacts mood more than anything else in the world. Once you got that under control, you don’t have much else to worry about.”

“But, in any case, I suppose I should assist you in this as best as I can.” He handed the pipe back off to one of his Bruisers, as they were starting to get needy again, “in the meantime, walk with me. I can take you to my office, as it isn’t too far from here.”

He did not turn around quite yet, as he was clearly waiting for the two to move on ahead of him a bit. He smiled a most reassuring smile, trying to at least make them relax a bit. It wasn’t like he wasn’t planning on doing anything to them JUST yet. He needed to prove his case first.

Both the soldier and the cyborg looked at each other for a brief moment before reluctantly doing as requested. As they walked past, however, the fox caught a glimpse of the old man slipping back behind the wall of Rhydu’s General Goods. He hardly would have cared otherwise (okay, that’s a bit of a lie. He would have cared A LOT. That stuff just didn’t happen if you were any of his citizens.) But what made him notice was the one thing that he could identify from any distance: the blue feather in his cap.

Well, I’ll be damned.

“Mister Marlin Dustin!” he shouted, his voice almost silencing the raindrops as they splattered onto the stone ground. The Avengers looked back towards him, trying to mask their surprise.

Marlin, too, was trying to do the same as he slowly withdrew from his hiding place within the store. He took a deep breath, put his hands in his pockets, and walked out of the store, meeting the rapidly encroaching fox.

“Marlin, Marlin, Marlin, my pal!” he said, grabbing one of the old man’s hand and shaking it vigorously to the distress of Dustin, “where have you been? You’ve been off work for weeks!”

“I- I have?” the old man replied, looking back towards the trench coat duo. Even within the rain, he could see their eyes widen. He grit his teeth. Why didn’t he tell them?

“Of course! You’re not getting TOO old, are you mister Dustin?” he said, his tone noticeably more jolly in comparison to before.

“No-no sir, not at all…”

The fox chuckled, taking the old writer by the hand and dragging him back to the group. He then halted, holding out a flat palm to introduce him.

“Strangers, and Marcus, meet mister Marlin Dustin, my legal adviser. Marlin Dustine, meet the Strangers… and Marcus.”

[Centurion]

"It's a pleasure, Mr. Dustin."

Cap quickly regained his composure and shook the old man's hand. With Marlin's true identity now coming to light, Cap began to understand the situation better than before. It all boiled down to the mayor's involvement in whatever was influencing the population of Rando Island. The Avenger was still unclear as to what Marlin had expected from him, but he guessed it had something to do with the Mayor. Seeing the old man's nervousness brought about more questions than answers as to the nature of his relationship with the Mayor. In any case, Cap had no intention of tipping his hand.

"Now, Mr. Mayor, you were taking us to your office? The sooner my partner and I get this job done, the sooner we can be out of your hair."

As long as the fox stood under the assumption that the two men before him knew nothing of what was really going on on Rando Island (which was partially true anyway) then Cap and Marcus would have the element of surprise on their side. He silently thanked Fury and the Black Widow for the extensive espionage training they had given him during his recent stint with S.HI.E.L.D. It let him stay one step ahead of the Mayor, or at least he hoped it did.

[Marcus Wright]

Sometimes you only began to understand what is brewing within the recesses of someone's mind. In this case, you had to only describe what went through a cyborg’s mind as thoughts sped along neuro pathways located inside Marcus’s human brain. Outside, Marcus looked cold and dead like the many observers outside on the Island. But there he stood, a terminator with a human soul, something made the cyborg almost blink.

Marlin came out of nowhere, making the ex-killer step back and observe with the good Captain America by his side.  “Aren’t you <i> supposed</i> to take us to the law office?”

Marcus was stern and straight to the point. Either the mayor was going to tell his real purpose or was it another wild goose chase disguised as a trap?

“Spit it out, <i> mayor</i>.”

The terminator eyed the Captain as he shook the man’s hand. The stealthy Avenger was a lot more calm and unshakeable then himself right now and even Marcus’s “mask” was begin to slip. It usually did when he got angry. However, killing nobody would solve anyone’s problem.

So he held back his explosive anger… again and again.

Nobody needed to know why both men were exploring this island. Marcus had added a new thing to his cyborg body, stealth incase he ever had to use it for emergencies.