Blue-clad S.H.I.E.L.D. agents scoured the area by the waterside, rummaging through piles of rubble in search of the renegade M.L.F. members that had been in the warehouse before it blew sky-high. Director Fury, one-time World War II soldier and head of S.H.I.E.L.D., oversaw the efforts of his men from a nearby perch.

(Strategic Hazard Intervention Espionage Logistics Directorate - Eric)

(last issue - Eric)

"Director Fury," came a squeaky voice from behind him. Turning, Fury saw his assistant, though some would jokingly call the man a secretary, Agent Barver, chugging up the small slope of rubble toward him. "We haven't found a thing yet, sir. To be perfectly honest, I don't think we're going to... if they were inside that warehouse when it blew, then they had no chance of getting out."

"I don't think so," Fury growled, chomping down on his rapidly shortening cigar. Flicking it away, he pulled another from his uniform, lit it, and stuck it in his mouth. "Use yer brain, Barver. They have a teleporter on the team... they could be anywhere."

Barver nodded thoughtfully, "Should... should I use the homing device?"

Sighing, Fury looked over at his subordinate and nodded slowly.

"Yes sir," said Barver shakily, switching on his palm-held tracking device. Two small, red blips came up on screen. "I have them, sir. They're in downtown Manhattan... and it looks as if they're all still together."

"Let's get a move on then, Barver," said Fury, coming down from his mound of rubble. He climbed into one of the small S.H.I.E.L.D. transport shuttles, pressed a few buttons, and sat back as the craft maneuvered itself toward the hovering Helicarrier.

"...explode!"

Wildside, the leader of the Mutant Liberation Front, opened up his eyes. Surrounding the small group were at least a dozen police cars, complete with blue uniformed men and women. One man, obviously a detective - his long brown trenchcoat and fedora gave it away - gaped in astonishment as the mutants suddenly appeared before him.

Strobe grinned, "We're not dead!"

"We might be soon," growled Spoor, glaring at the assembled policemen and women. Glancing behind him, the furry mutant noticed that they had appeared in front of a bank. "Nice placement, babe!" said Spoor, looking toward Phantazia.

"Shut... up!" said Phantazia in response. She had collapsed to her knees after the split-second teleportation she had whipped up, her head pounding. A thin river of blood ran out of her nose... and she didn't feel too good at all.

The detective stepped forward, his pistol held at the ready. "Uh... why don't you just stay right where you are. Don't move... or we'll open fire!"

"This sucks!" spat Feral, who was crouching next to Wildside.

Suddenly, a huge shadow blocked out the sun, wrapping the two groups in darkness. The detective and his fellow officers glanced toward the sky and beheld the massive S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier hovering overhead. Two small craft flew out of the 'carrier's bulk and headed toward the surface.

Wildside, realizing that the police had turned their attention away from the M.L.F., said: "Everybody into the bank, now!" He rushed over and hauled Phantazia to her feet, slung her over his shoulder with a grunt, and ran toward the bank. Within seconds the rest of the team joined him. Setting Phantazia down on the ground, Wildside turned his attention toward Spoor.

"What?" barked Spoor, realizing that Wildside was glaring at him.

"You led them to us AGAIN!" shouted Wildside, spittle flying from his lips. He, indeed the rest of the M.L.F., failed to notice the massive vault door swinging open with a creak. "Those S.H.I.E.L.D. bums found us again! Mind telling me how they keep doing that?"

Spoor glowered. "How the hell am I supposed to know? Why don't you ask red over there," he said, pointing toward Strobe. "She joined at the same time I did, and she came from the same place I did! How do you know SHE'S not leading them to us?"

"I'm not leading anyone anywhere!" Strobe yelled in her own defense.

Feral glanced behind her, realizing that someone was watching them. A man stood in the open vault door, staring out at the group of bickering mutants. He wore a tight red costume with a big, puffy neckpiece, and a black mask around his eyes.

"Hey boss..." said Feral, tapping Wildside on the shoulder.

Slapping Feral's hand away, Wildside continued to concentrate on Spoor. "I'll tell you why I don't suspect her, fuzzy! I've worked with her before, and I trust her a little bit. YOU, however, I don't trust as far as I can throw you!"

After a few more pokes, Wildside finally turned toward Feral. "What do you... who the hell are you?"

The man in the vault grinned, "Come now, none of you recognize me?"

"I recognize you, Vanisher," said Feral. "Xavier has quite a file on you."

The Vanisher's grin widened. "I suspect it's getting bigger with every ingenious robbery I commit, eh?" The man broke into a raucous guffaw, leaning back against the vault door. After a few moments, he stopped laughing and composed himself. "Anyway... "

(see issues #1-2 for more on the Vanisher's robbery spree - Eric)

Without warning, the bank's glass doors and window exploded inward, showering the mutants with bits of glass. Canisters of gas rolled on the floor, spewing noxious fumes into the room.

"Oops, that's my cue!" said the Vanisher, snagging a few bags of money from the vault. Within the blink of an eye, he was gone.

"Phantazia, get us out of here!" shouted Wildside, hacking and coughing. With watery eyes, he tried to peer through the smoke. He knew that within a few moments S.H.I.E.L.D. troops would come pouring into the bank and capture them.

"Phantazia?"

Feral burst through the smoke and leaned up against Wildside. "No can do, boss," she said, coughing, "She's out like a light."

"WHAT?!?"

"She's unconscious," shouted Strobe from the other side of the room. Thin, red dots poked through the smoke and alit on her body. It took her a few seconds to realize that the dots came from laser scopes on the S.H.I.E.L.D. troops' guns. "Wildside, we have to move!"

Cursing, Wildside charged into the smoke and surprised a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, taking him down with one quick swipe. Picking up his gun, the leader of the MLF shot a burst of bullets into the advancing red beams. A few cries of pain followed as the bullets thudded into the S.H.I.E.L.D. men's bodies.

The Vanisher appeared next to Wildside, startling the white-haired mutant. Grinning, the man said: "What can I say? I can't abandon an evil mutant in danger."

Wildside opened his mouth to speak, but before he could he found himself in the middle of a spacious apartment. Looking around, he realized that Feral, Spoor, and the other two had been teleported with him. The Vanisher leaned against a very expensive looking entertainment center in the corner and smiled.

"You can thank me now," said the Vanisher, "or you can thank me later. Your choice."

"We could've handled it," replied Wildside arrogantly.

From a small white loveseat, Spoor chuckled. A malicious glance from Feral and Wildside only served to make the mutant laugh harder. In a few moments, however, his brief laughing fit was over.

Crossing the living room, the Vanisher plopped down on a leather couch next to the still, unconscious form of Phantazia. Strobe sat on the far end of the couch, regarding the bald man with curious eyes.

"Why did you help us?" Strobe inquired.

"Why not?" the Vanisher replied. "I figured that if I rescued all of you, I could get a few more hands to help out. Y'know, robbing banks, that sort of thing."

Wildside leaned in close to the Vanisher and scowled. "We're not a bunch of bank robbers, Mr. Clean. We're terrorists. We spread terror amongst the human populace."

Nodding, the Vanisher brought a hand up and stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Now that I think about it, those S.H.I.E.L.D. troops were pretty scared. Scared that they wouldn't be home in time for dinner, that is."

The Vanisher let his sarcastic comment sink in, then continued. "You're not very good terrorists, if I do say so myself. I seem to recall that you're the M.L.F., right? You were a lot scarier when that Stryfe guy was leading you."

Growling, Wildside brought up a hand and sent it hurtling toward the Vanisher, intent on smacking the man upside the head. With a thought, however, the bald man teleported to the other side of the room. Wildside lost his balance and tumbled onto the couch, almost knocking Phantazia off.

"Nice shot..." muttered Spoor. He was looking closely at his left hand and rubbing his right over it. Something was in his hand, right below the skin, forming a very small, almost unnoticeable bump. Gritting his teeth, Spoor sliced the back of his hand open and pulled the offending object out. "Sonuva...!"

"What?" asked Strobe, leaning forward on the couch.

Spoor held up a small microchip and peered at it. "Those S.H.I.E.L.D. guys put little homing chips in us. That's how they knew where we were," he marveled for a moment, then smashed the chip into even tinier pieces. "Homing beacons."

"So... so I have one in me, too?"

"Probably, babe," said Spoor in response to Strobe's question. He watched as the redhead slid her right hand over her left hand for a few moments, then stopped, her hand hovering over a tiny bump. "I can get it out for ya, doll."

The Vanisher spoke up. "Hold on a second." Closing his eyes, the bald man seemed to concentrate deeply, his breath becoming slow and steady. A small *POOF* a few moments later, and the Vanisher opened his eyes. In his hand was a small microchip.

"Neat trick, huh?" Without a second look, he broke the chip in half.

Nick Fury sat in his office on the Helicarrier, wondering just how the M.L.F. had escaped him AGAIN. It was becoming aggravating, to say the least, but he'd handle it. He always did.

The room's door opened, and Fury's assistant Barver stepped into the dimly-light, smoke-filled room. "Sir," Barver began. He stopped, coughed due to the heavy cigar smoke, then resumed. "We've lost the transmissions from the homing devices."

"What did you say?"

Barver cleared his throat, then said "We... we lost the homing devices on Spoor and Strobe. I don't know how, sir, they must've found them and..."

"Stow it!" Fury barked. Rubbing his forehead, the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. continued. "Barver, can I ask you a question?"

"Yes, sir."

"How did you become a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent?" Fury stamped out his cigar and promptly lit another one, filling the room's atmosphere with more smoke.

Blinking once at the question, Barver said "I... well, my uncle's a senator, and he thought that it would be..."

"Enough!" interrupted Fury. He took a few thoughtful puffs on his cigar, looked at Barver, and waved the man out of the room. Barver promptly exited, leaving Fury alone once again. "Damn politicians."

In M.L.F. #4: It's the M.L.F. vs S.H.I.E.L.D. round 4! Be here for the excitement as the M.L.F. saves another mutant from the clutches of S.H.I.E.L.D. Who is it? Plus: the Friends of Humanity rear their ugly heads!