Marvel MK: CH 163 – The Gilded Cage

The world was holding its breath. The sky, just hours ago a familiar canvas of blue and white, was now an oppressive, starless void. Panic, a cold and creeping thing, began to seep into the cracks of civilization. People didn't know what to do. Should they run? Should they stay? Should they let go and let fate take its course?

Nothing was happening, yet everything had changed. The people needed something to blame, a focal point for their fear and confusion. And they found one. A glittering, impossible sanctuary in the heart of their terrified city: the Golden Peach.

The anger started, as it always did, on social media.

–––

@: So let me get this straight. The sky turns into a black hole, and the people in the #GoldenPeach are just… chilling? No black sky for them? Must be nice. #JackHou #Rapture

@: This is what happens when you let these meta-human freaks run their own little kingdoms. Jack Hou probably caused this. He’s holding the world hostage from his ivory tower. Where’s the military?! #MutantMenace

@: My cousin lives just outside the barrier. She said the people inside are just going about their day like nothing’s wrong. They’re laughing. They’re eating. SELFISH. They have a magic shield, and they’re not sharing. #GoldenPeachSelfish

@: So the sky goes black and the one place with a magic shield is the WOKE UTOPIA run by an illegal alien with a tail? This is a coordinated attack on our way of life. They're probably sipping their soy lattes in there, laughing at us. This is why we need a wall. A bigger wall. A dome, maybe. #JackHouIsATerrorist

@: I'm literally shaking. The void sky is emitting a super low-frequency vibration that's disrupting my chakras. It's obviously an energy attack. People in the Golden Peach are protected because the God Tree is a giant orgone accumulator. He's hoarding the good vibes for himself. This is spiritual gentrification.

@: My solar panels ain't workin'. My whole house is off-grid. Now what? Is Jack Hou gonna pay my electric bill? Bet he didn't think about that. Typical elite. Creates a problem then hides in his gilded cage while the rest of us suffer.

–––

Karen P.: I am absolutely SICKENED. My son, Brayden (7), asked me if the sun was dead. He started crying and said he was scared the “Monkey Man” was going to take our house next. How am I supposed to explain a void sky to a child?! The people in that Golden Peach are celebrating their safety while our children are being TRAUMATIZED. Someone needs to sue him for emotional distress. My Brayden has anxiety now.

Sharon L.: IT IS A SIGN. The Bible speaks of a sky of darkness and a false prophet with the mark of the beast (A TAIL IS A MARK). The Golden Peach is a modern-day Sodom and Gomorrah. We need to PRAY. I am organizing a prayer circle to march on the barrier. Who's with me?! 🙏🙏🙏

–––

Anonymous 05/03/12(Thu)14:32:50 No.881488

>be me
>average New Yorker
>sky turns into cheap Unreal Engine asset
>can't see the sun
>power flickers
>meanwhile, the Monkey's ethnostate is having a fucking peach festival inside their magic bubble
>media: "omg he's so brave and stunning"
It's literally the CCP. The "barrier" is a prototype quantum wall. Jack Hou is a plant. They're testing a weather weapon and using a chink in a kung-fu costume as the face of it. How are you faggots not seeing this?

Anonymous 05/03/12(Thu)14:34:12 No.881492

>Be me
>Tried to get into the Golden Peach.
>Thought "good intentions."
>Thought about puppies and helping old ladies.
>Barrier zapped my balls.
>mfw the monkey man is a cuck who can read my browser history.

Anonymous 05/03/12(Thu)14:35:01 No.881499

I heard the peaches turn you gay. My uncle ate one and now he listens to Lady Gaga. It's over.

–––

The digital anger soon spilled onto the physical streets. A crowd began to gather at the border of Jack’s territory. They shouted, their voices a chorus of fear and resentment. Curses and heinous slurs, a toxic cocktail of anti-mutant rhetoric and pure, unadulterated panic, filled the air. “Jack Hou needs to be hanged!” one man screamed, his face red with fury.

They marched forward, a wave of righteous anger, and were stopped by an invisible wall. The golden barrier. They began to bang on it, their fists a frantic, useless drumbeat against the shimmering, unyielding energy.

And, with it, the news crews arrived, their cameras and microphones amplifying the chaos. A reporter, her face a mask of practiced, urgent concern, stood before the angry, surging crowd.

“We are live at the border of the so-called ‘Golden Peach’,” she said into the camera, “where a tense standoff is unfolding. The mysterious golden barrier has solidified, trapping the residents inside and, as you can see, preventing these concerned American citizens from seeking refuge. Jack Hou has effectively restricted the freedom of his own people and the people of New York.”

As she spoke, a small, impossible sight appeared in the background. A child, no older than five, pedaled his tricycle, passing through the barrier as if it weren't there at all. He cycled out, did a small, wobbly circle on the pavement, and then pedaled back in.

The reporter, taken aback, faltered for a second. She had just reported that the barrier was a violation of American freedom, a prison wall, and yet… a child on a tricycle had just passed through it.

Just then, a woman from inside the Golden Peach walked out, her shopping bags full, her expression one of mild annoyance at the commotion. The reporter, panicking, saw an opportunity to spin the narrative. She shoved a microphone in the woman’s face.

“Ma’am! Ma’am! What did you have to do to pass Jack Hou’s barrier? Are you a slave of Jack Hou?”

The woman looked at her, utterly bewildered. “Whoa, whoa, a slave? What the hell is going on?”

The reporter launched into a frantic, media-spun version of events, painting Jack as an enslaving, imprisoning tyrant who had locked down his territory.

The woman just stared at her, then let out a long, weary sigh. “You know the barrier has to do with intention, right?” she said, her voice dripping with a native New Yorker’s no-bullshit practicality. “If you have the thought of hurting someone, if you’re a dangerous individual, you can’t pass through. It’s not a wall; it’s a filter.”

The reporter, her narrative crumbling, went into full-blown panic mode. She turned back to the camera, her voice full of a false, triumphant concern. “And there you have it!” she declared. “Another victim of Jack Hou’s brainwashing, thankfully, safely, out of the Golden Peach!”

…

​​Inside Donald Blake’s small, tidy clinic, the woman from the news report was still waving her phone, its screen replaying the clip of her now-infamous interview.

“What the hell!” she exclaimed, her voice a mixture of outrage and disbelief. “I’m brainwashed now?! Doc, can you believe this?”

Donald just chuckled, a warm, patient sound. “With the sky turning into a void yesterday, everything is possible these days.” He then gave her a playful, teasing smile. “Though, with your personality, I think it’s good if they can brainwash you into taking my advice seriously.”

The woman let out an awkward, sputtering laugh. “Hehehe.”

“Here you go,” Donald said, handing her a small paper bag. “This should be enough for the acid reflux if it comes again. And once again, please, follow my dietary advice.”

The woman waved goodbye and left, her indignant muttering fading down the hallway. Donald was alone in his clinic. He leaned on his cane and looked out the window, up at the now-clear sky. But he felt something. A strange, pulling sensation, a connection to a speck of something out there in the vast, empty cosmos. He tried to search for it on the internet, typing in phrases like “feeling connected to space” and “sudden cosmic longing,” but the results were a useless jumble of new-age blogs and conspiracy theories. None of it made sense.

BANG!

The clinic door was thrown open with a force that rattled the glass. It was Milo, Darcy, and Jane.

“Where is my favorite Doctor House?” Milo boomed, his voice a cheerful, chaotic thing.

Donald came out from his office. “Stop calling me Doctor House. How are you? Graduated yet?”

“Ugh, you wound me deep,” Milo said, clutching his chest. “It’s hard to be a doctor. You’re an outlier.”

Jane walked over and gave Donald a soft kiss. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” he said, his smile genuine. “How is the internship?”

They all fell back into their natural, easy vibe, a comfortable rhythm of friendship. But now, Jane was not just a friend anymore. She was his girlfriend. Their conversation was easy, blurring into Milo’s dramatic declaration that “people have been saying to spend your day with your loved ones lately, so here we are.”

“Thanks,” Donald said, a warm feeling spreading through his chest. “Wanna order some pizza?”

“You’re closing early?” Jane asked.

“It’s just an hour early,” he said with a shrug. “It’s almost dark. Come on, my apartment’s safe.”

“Better be,” Darcy said with a grin. “Rent is high in the Golden Peach.”

…

The sky was dark as a Quinjet flew stealthily through the night. Inside, the atmosphere was a strange, tense mixture of a superhero road trip and a prisoner transport. Tony Stark, his Iron Man suit retracted, leaned back in his seat.

“Pretty spry for an old fella,” he said, looking at Steve Rogers. He then added, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “What’s your thing, Pilates?”

Steve just looked at him, his brow furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“It’s like calisthenics,” Tony explained, thoroughly amused by his own joke. “You might’ve missed a couple of things… you know, doing your time as a Capsicle.”

Steve’s gaze was steady, his blue eyes holding a quiet, unreadable weight. “Fury didn’t tell me he was calling you in.”

“Well,” Tony said with a shrug, “there’s a lot of things Fury doesn’t tell you.”

Just then, the jet’s detection radar let out a soft, insistent beep. Three unidentified flying objects were approaching. Fast.

“Got a guest,” Tony said, his tone shifting, all business now.

Steve looked out the side window and saw it: a man with long black hair, monkey-like tail, riding a cloud, keeping pace with the Quinjet with an effortless, impossible grace. It was Jack Hou.

Jack waved to them. They couldn’t hear him from the inside, but his mouth was moving, a silent, cheerful monologue.

“J.A.R.V.I.S.?” Tony said.

“He is saying,” the A.I.’s voice chimed in, “Hello, racist man! Oh, Tin Man is here, too! And my lovely Redhead! What a coincidence! to meet at my usual flight path with my friends.”

“Friends, huh?” Tony muttered.

As if on cue, two sleek, black jets, the unmistakable Blackbirds of the X-Men, appeared, flying in perfect formation on either side of the Quinjet.

“Who are they?” Steve asked.

“The X-Men,” Tony answered simply.

Jack, seeing the full, bizarre assembly, began to laugh and talk again.

“He is now saying,” J.A.R.V.I.S. reported, “Don’t tell Xavier, but the reason the X-Men have an ‘X’ on their costume is so the villains will shoot them instead of him. Kekeke.”

“Stop mimicking his laugh, J.A.R.V.I.S.,” Tony said with a sigh.

Tony’s gaze then fixed on the lead Blackbird. “Do you know them?” he asked Steve.

“Yeah. I know one of them,” Steve said, his voice a low, quiet thing. “A close friend.”

In the back of the Quinjet, bound in restraints, Loki watched the scene unfold, a slow, creepy smile spreading across his face.

…

Loki was escorted through the sterile, metallic corridors of the Helicarrier, a procession of S.H.I.E.L.D. STRIKE operatives a silent, grim honor guard. He was strangely compliant, a faint, amused smile on his face. As he passed a lab, he turned his head, his gaze landing on Dr. Bruce Banner. He smiled, a slow, predatory expression, and then he passed the room completely.

He was brought to his cell, a massive, cylindrical cage of reinforced glass. Nick Fury walked in.

“In case it’s unclear,” Fury said, his voice a low, gravelly thing. He tapped a button on the control panel. A massive panel in the floor beneath the cell slid open, revealing a dizzying, thirty-thousand-foot drop. “You try to escape, you so much as scratch that glass…” He closed the panel. He then pointed at Loki. “Ant.” He pointed at the control panel. “Boot.”

Loki just laughed. “It’s an impressive cage. Not built, I think, for me.”

“Built for something a lot stronger than you,” Fury countered.

Loki’s smile widened. He looked directly at the CCTV camera in his cell. “Oh, I’ve heard. The mindless beast, makes play he’s still a man. How desperate are you?”

In the main meeting room, Natasha, Banner, Captain America, Hank McCoy, Scott Summers, and Jack Hou watched the live feed.

“You call on such creatures to defend you,” Loki’s voice taunted from the speakers.

“How desperate am I?” Fury’s voice was a low, dangerous thing. “You threaten my world with darkness. You steal a force you can’t hope to control. You talk about peace, but you kill ‘cause it’s fun. You have made me very desperate. You might not be glad that you did.”

Loki looked at Nick, then back at the camera. “Ooo, it burns you to have come so close. To have the Tesseract, to have power, unlimited power. And for what? A warm light for all mortals to share? And then to be reminded of what real power is.”

Nick smirked. “Well, let me know if ‘real power’ wants a magazine or something.” He then turned and left.

The CCTV footage was closed. Banner let out a long, slow breath. “He really grows on you, doesn’t he?”

“Steady your breath, Dr. Banner,” Hank said, his voice calm and reassuring. “Loki’s just trying to get in your head.”

“Or what he meant is you,” Jack said, pointing at Hank with a half-eaten donut. “Though you’re not a mindless beast. You’re a blue beast. Kekeke.”

“Both of them are not beasts,” Captain America interjected, his voice firm.

“It’s okay,” Hank said with a small, weary smile. “Jack has a unique way of showing compassion.”

“You hear that, racist man?” Jack said, turning to Steve. “I’m a good Samaritan.”

“Okay…” Steve said, trying to focus the conversation. “So, we know now that he is Loki, as in the myth of the Norse gods.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell all of you,” Jack said, his voice full of a theatrical, long-suffering sigh. “I’m a god, too. A handsome monkey god.”

Cap, trying to steer them back on track, asked, “Do you know his plan?”

“Oh, I know,” Jack said, a wicked, knowing grin on his face. “I’ll say it once Xavier is here. He’ll read his mind, and I will tell you. Because I’ve got a feeling there are changes to what Loki’s plan is. Kekekeke.”