Deadpool Daily Quest - Round 63 - Dec 25-Dec 29

ZootSax

I'm posting this a day early, as it's unlikely I'll be online here on Christmas Day.

Round 63 uses "Sweet" taco tokens.

Covers for this round will be Storm (Black), Luke Cage (Black), Rocket & Groot (Blue), Spider-Man (Purple) and Daredevil (Red)

In honor of Christmas, I made an effort to replicate the spirit of one of the occasionally-bizarre writeups that DearBluey used to insert into these threads from time to time. It's got nothing on his Marvel Puzzle Quest Compound materpiece from several months back (which he hopefully can resume someday soon--both because I'm dying from suspense from what would take place in the teased "Hygiene Is Not A Greeting" episode and because I'm also lazy and wouldn't mind someone else doing these threads again ), but what can you do? I hope you all enjoy the Holiday season, regardless of what Holiday you celebrate, if you even celebrate one this time of year at all. Best wishes!

(incidentally, I've bolded the actual matchups for Day One, so it should be easy to skip the nonsense I added if you so choose)

Day One (Merry Christmas):

That Guy From That Place -
Storm** (15), Criterion (10), Criterion (10)

A Marvel Puzzle Quest Carol (with apologies to the estate and/or ghost of Charles Dickens)

Magneto was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Storm signed it. And Storm's name was good upon 'Change, for anything she chose to put her hand to. Old Magneto was as dead as a door-nail.

Storm never painted out Old Magneto's name. There it stood, years afterwards, above the ware-house door: Storm and Magneto. The firm was known as Storm and Magneto. Sometimes people new to the business called Storm Storm, and sometimes Magneto, but she answered to both names. It was all the same to her.

For brevity's sake, our narration can skip ahead some until Storm's nephew and wife (both of whom are identical Criterion mutants--kind of creepy, if you think about it, so personally, I'll choose not to), arrive to greet their Aunt.

The door of Storm's counting-house was open that she might keep her eye upon her clerk, who in a dismal little cell beyond, a sort of tank, was copying letters. Storm had a very small fire, but the clerk's fire was so very much smaller that it looked like one coal. But he couldn't replenish it, for Storm kept the coal-box in her own room; and so surely as the clerk came in with the shovel, the master predicted that it would be necessary for them to part. Wherefore the clerk put on his white comforter, and tried to warm himself at the candle; in which effort, not being a man of a strong imagination, he failed.

``A merry Christmas, uncle! God save you!'' cried a cheerful voice. It was the voice of Storm's nephew, the afore-mentioned Criterion mutant, who came upon her so quickly that this was the first intimation she had of his approach.

``Bah!'' said Storm, ``Humbug!''

He had so heated himself with rapid walking in the fog and frost, this nephew of Storm's, that he was all in a glow; his face was ruddy and handsome; his eyes sparkled, and his breath smoked again.

``Christmas a humbug, aunt!'' said Storm's nephew. ``You don't mean that, I am sure.''

``I do,'' said Storm. ``Merry Christmas! What right have you to be merry? what reason have you to be merry? You're poor enough.''

``Come, then,'' returned the nephew gaily. ``What right have you to be dismal? what reason have you to be morose? You're rich enough.''

Storm having no better answer ready on the spur of the moment, said, ``Bah!'' again; and followed it up with ``Humbug.''

``Don't be cross, aunt,'' said the nephew.

``What else can I be,'' returned the aunt, ``when I live in such a world of fools as this Merry Christmas! Out upon merry Christmas. What's Christmas time to you but a time for paying bills without money; a time for finding yourself a year older, but not an hour richer; a time for balancing your books and having every item in 'em through a round dozen of months presented dead against you? If I could work my will,'' said Storm indignantly, ``every idiot who goes about with ``Merry Christmas'' on his lips, should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. He should!''

``Aunt!'' pleaded the nephew.

``Nephew!'' returned the aunt, sternly, ``keep Christmas in your own way, and let me keep it in mine.''

``Keep it!'' repeated Storm's nephew. ``But you don't keep it.''

``Let me leave it alone, then,'' said Storm. ``Much good may it do you! Much good it has ever done you!''

``There are many things from which I might have derived good, by which I have not profited, I dare say,'' returned the nephew: ``Christmas among the rest. But I am sure I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round -- apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that -- as a good time: a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time: the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore, aunt, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, and will do me good; and I say, God bless it!''

The clerk in the tank involuntarily applauded. Becoming immediately sensible of the impropriety, he poked the fire, and extinguished the last frail spark for ever.

``Let me hear another sound from you,'' said Storm, `` and you'll keep your Christmas by losing your situation. You're quite a powerful speaker, sir,'' she added, turning to her nephew. ``I wonder you don't go into Parliament.''

``Don't be angry, aunt. Come! Dine with us to-morrow.''

Storm said that she would see him -- yes, indeed she did. She went the whole length of the expression, and said that she would see him in that extremity first.

``But why?'' cried Storm's nephew. ``Why?''

``Why did you get married?'' said Storm.

``Because I fell in love.''

``Because you fell in love!'' growled Storm, as if that were the only one thing in the world more ridiculous than a merry Christmas. ``Good afternoon!''

``Nay, aunt, but you never came to see me before that happened. Why give it as a reason for not coming now?''

``Good afternoon,'' said Storm.

``I want nothing from you; I ask nothing of you; why cannot we be friends?''

``Good afternoon,'' said Storm.

``I am sorry, with all my heart, to find you so resolute. We have never had any quarrel, to which I have been a party. But I have made the trial in homage to Christmas, and I'll keep my Christmas humour to the last. So A Merry Christmas, aunt!''

``Good afternoon!'' said Storm.

``And A Happy New Year!''

``Good afternoon!'' said Storm.

Her nephew left the room without an angry word, notwithstanding. He stopped at the outer door to bestow the greeting of the season on the clerk, who, cold as he was, was warmer than Storm; for he returned them cordially...



Under The Sea -
Wave 1 Subject (20), Empiricist (22), Control (25), Control (28)
Wave 2 Criterion (40), Criterion (42), Magneto*** (50), Control (46)

The cellar-door flew open with a booming sound, and then she heard the noise much louder, on the floors below; then coming up the stairs; then coming straight towards his door.

``It's humbug still!'' cried Storm. ``I won't believe it.''

Her colour changed though, when, without a pause, it came on through the heavy door, and passed into the room before her eyes. Upon its coming in, the dying flame leaped up, as though it cried, ``I know him! Magneto's Ghost!'' and fell again.

The same face: the very same. Magneto in his usual helmet, cape, and boots; The chain he drew was clasped about his middle. It was long, and wound about him like a tail; and it was made (for Storm observed it closely) of cash-boxes, keys, padlocks, ledgers, deeds, and heavy purses wrought in steel. Considering his formidable, mutant powers, it would seem that such a chain should be a triffle, but he appeared to struggle with it. His body was transparent; so that Storm, observing him, and looking through his waistcoat, could see the two buttons on his coat behind.

Though she looked the phantom through and through, and saw it standing before her; though she felt the chilling influence of its death-cold eyes; and marked the very texture of the folded kerchief bound about its head and chin, which wrapper he had not observed before; she was still incredulous, and fought against her senses.

``How now!'' said Storm, caustic and cold as ever. ``What do you want with me?''

``Much!'' -- Magneto's voice, no doubt about it.

``Who are you?''

``Ask me who I was.''

``Who were you then.'' said Storm, raising her voice. ``You're particular, for a shade.'' She was going to say ``to a shade,'' but substituted this, as more appropriate.

``In life I was your partner, Magneto.''

``Can you -- can you sit down?'' asked Storm, looking doubtfully at him.

``I can.''

``Do it, then.''

Storm asked the question, because she didn't know whether a ghost so transparent might find himself in a condition to take a chair; and felt that in the event of its being impossible, it might involve the necessity of an embarrassing explanation. But the ghost sat down on the opposite side of the fireplace, as if he were quite used to it.

``You don't believe in me,'' observed the Ghost.

``I don't,'' said Storm.

``What evidence would you have of my reality beyond that of your senses?''

``I don't know,'' said Storm.

``Why do you doubt your senses?''

``Because,'' said Storm, ``a little thing affects them. A slight disorder of the stomach makes them cheats. You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. There's more of gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are!''

Storm was not much in the habit of cracking jokes, nor did she feel, in her heart, by any means waggish then. The truth is, that she tried to be smart, as a means of distracting her own attention, and keeping down her terror; for the spectre's voice disturbed the very marrow in her bones.

To sit, staring at those fixed, glazed eyes, in silence for a moment, would play, Storm felt, the very deuce with her. There was something very awful, too, in the spectre's being provided with an infernal atmosphere of its own. Storm could not feel it herself, but this was clearly the case; for though the Ghost sat perfectly motionless, its helmet, and cape, and tassels, were still agitated as by the hot vapour from an oven.

The spirit raised a frightful cry, and shook its chain with such a dismal and appalling noise, that Storm held on tight to her chair, to save herself from falling in a swoon. But how much greater was her horror, when the phantom taking off the bandage round its head, as if it were too warm to wear in-doors, its lower jaw dropped down upon its ****!

Storm fell upon her knees, and clasped her hands before her face.

``Mercy!'' she said. ``Dreadful apparition, why do you trouble me?''

``Woman of the worldly mind!'' replied the Ghost, ``do you believe in me or not?''

``I do,'' said Storm. ``I must. But why do spirits walk the earth, and why do they come to me?''

``It is required of every mutant,'' the Ghost returned, ``that the spirit within him should walk abroad among his fellow-muntants, and travel far and wide; and if that spirit goes not forth in life, it is condemned to do so after death. It is doomed to wander through the world -- oh, woe is me! -- and witness what it cannot share, but might have shared on earth, and turned to happiness!''

Again the spectre raised a cry, and shook its chain, and wrung its shadowy hands.

``You are fettered,'' said Storm, trembling. ``Tell me why?''

``I wear the chain I forged in life,'' replied the Ghost. ``I made it link by link, and yard by yard; I girded it on of my own free will, and of my own free will I wore it. Is its pattern strange to you?''

Storm trembled more and more.

``Or would you know,'' pursued the Ghost, ``the weight and length of the strong coil you bear yourself? It was full as heavy and as long as this, seven Christmas Eves ago. You have laboured on it, since. It is a ponderous chain!''

Storm glanced about her on the floor, in the expectation of finding herself surrounded by some fifty or sixty fathoms of iron cable: but she could see nothing.

``Magneto,'' he said, imploringly. ``Marvel NOW Magneto, tell me more. Speak comfort to me, Magneto.''

``I have none to give,'' the Ghost replied. ``It comes from other regions, Ororo Munroe, and is conveyed by other ministers, to other kinds of mutants. Nor can I tell you what I would. A very little more, is all permitted to me. I cannot rest, I cannot stay, I cannot linger anywhere. My spirit never walked beyond our counting-house -- mark me! -- in life my spirit never roved beyond the narrow limits of our money-changing hole; and weary journeys lie before me!''

It was a habit with Storm, whenever she became thoughtful, to put her hands in her breeches pockets. Pondering on what the Ghost had said, she did so now, but without lifting up her eyes, or getting off her knees.

``You must have been very slow about it, Magneto,'' Storm observed, in a business-like manner, though with humility and deference.

``Slow!'' the Ghost repeated.

``Seven years dead,'' mused Storm. ``And travelling all the time?''

``The whole time,'' said the Ghost. ``No rest, no peace. Incessant torture of remorse.''

``You travel fast?'' said Storm.

``On the wings of the wind,'' replied the Ghost.

``You might have got over a great quantity of ground in seven years,'' said Storm.

The Ghost, on hearing this, set up another cry, and clanked its chain so hideously in the dead silence of the night, that the Ward would have been justified in indicting it for a nuisance.

``Oh! captive, bound, and double-ironed,'' cried the phantom, ``not to know, that ages of incessant labour by immortal creatures, for this earth must pass into eternity before the good of which it is susceptible is all developed. Not to know that any Christian spirit working kindly in its little sphere, whatever it may be, will find its mortal life too short for its vast means of usefulness. Not to know that no space of regret can make amends for one life's opportunities misused! Yet such was I! Oh! such was I!''

``But you were always a good man of business, Magneto,'' faultered Storm, who now began to apply this to herself.

``Business!'' cried the Ghost, wringing its hands again. ``Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence, were, all, my business. The dealings of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business!''

It held up its chain at arm's length, as if that were the cause of all its unavailing grief, and flung it heavily upon the ground again.

``Hear me!'' cried the Ghost. ``My time is nearly gone.''

``I will,'' said Storm. ``But don't be hard upon me! Don't be flowery, Magneto! Pray!''

``You will be haunted,'' resumed the Ghost, ``by Three Spirits.''

Storm's countenance fell almost as low as the Ghost's had done.

``Is that the chance and hope you mentioned, Magneto?'' she demanded, in a faltering voice.

``It is.''

``I -- I think I'd rather not,'' said Storm.

``Without their visits,'' said the Ghost, ``you cannot hope to shun the path I tread. Expect the first to-morrow, when the bell tolls One.''

``Couldn't I take 'em all at once, and have it over, Magneto?'' hinted Storm.

``Expect the second on the next night at the same hour. The third upon the next night when the last stroke of Twelve has ceased to vibrate. Look to see me no more; and look that, for your own sake, you remember what has passed between us.''

When it had said these words, the spectre took its wrapper from the table, and bound it round its head, as before. Storm knew this, by the smart sound its teeth made, when the jaws were brought together by the bandage. She ventured to raise her eyes again, and found her supernatural visitor confronting him in an erect attitude, with its chain wound over and about its arm.

The apparition walked backward from her; and at every step it took, the window raised itself a little, so that when the spectre reached it, it was wide open.

It beckoned Storm to approach, which she did. When they were within two paces of each other, Magneto's Ghost held up its hand, warning her to come no nearer. Storm stopped.

Not so much in obedience, as in surprise and fear: for on the raising of the hand, she became sensible of confused noises in the air; incoherent sounds of lamentation and regret; wailings inexpressibly sorrowful and self-accusatory. The spectre, after listening for a moment, joined in the mournful dirge; and floated out upon the bleak, dark night.

Storm followed to the window: desperate in her curiosity. She looked out.

The air was filled with phantoms--mutant empiricists, controls, criterions and subjects--wandering hither and thither in restless haste, and moaning as they went. Every one of them wore chains like Magneto's Ghost; some few (they might be guilty governments) were linked together; none were free. Many had been personally known to Storm in their lives. He had been quite familiar with one old ghost, in a white waistcoat, with a monstrous iron safe attached to its ankle, who cried piteously at being unable to assist a wretched woman with an infant, whom it saw below, upon a door-step. The misery with them all was, clearly, that they sought to interfere, for good, in human matters, and had lost the power for ever.


Third Time's The Charm -
Deadpool*** (74), Magneto (70), Wolverine*** (71)

Storm lay in a half-sleeping state when she remembered, on a sudden, that the Ghost had warned her of a visitation when the bell tolled one. She resolved to lie awake until the hour was past; and, considering that she could no more go to sleep than go to Heaven, this was perhaps the wisest resolution in her considerable power.

The quarter was so long, that she was more than once convinced she must have sunk into a doze unconsciously, and missed the clock. At length it broke upon her listening ear.

``Ding, dong!''

``A quarter past,'' said Storm, counting.

``Ding, dong!''

``Half past!'' said Storm.

``Ding, dong!''

``A quarter to it,'' said Storm.

``Ding, dong!''

``The hour itself,'' said Storm, triumphantly, ``and nothing else!''

She spoke before the hour bell sounded, which it now did with a deep, dull, hollow, melancholy ONE. Light flashed up in the room upon the instant, and the curtains of her bed were drawn.

The curtains of her bed were drawn aside, I tell you, by a hand. Not the curtains at her feet, nor the curtains at her back, but those to which her face was addressed. The curtains of her bed were drawn aside; and Storm, starting up into a half-recumbent attitude, found herself face to face with the unearthly visitor who drew them: as close to it as I am now to you, and I am standing in the spirit at your elbow.

It was a strange figure--honestly, how else do you describe Deadpool. His voice shattered the Fourth Wall while, ignoring poor Storm entirely he proclaimed, "Folks, this is dragging a bit and you don't care--it's just a 1,000 iso 2-star character node, right? Let's get Storm over to her memories of Fezziwig's Christmas parties of days long gone. Did I mention I call Wolverine Fezziwig? No? He hates that. I wouldn't recommend calling that to his face. Honestly, I wouldn't. That is to say, I do, but you probably shouldn't. Young Magneto's there, too. Again, run with it, okay?

And with that, the Deadpool of Christmas past transported Storm back to a happier time, where the story could progress in blissful peace...


Dat Required Character -
Captain Marvel** (64), Moonstone** (60), Wolverine** (63)

Now, being prepared for almost anything, Storm was not by any means prepared for nothing; and, consequently, when the Bell struck One, and no shape appeared, she was taken with a violent fit of trembling. Five minutes, ten minutes, a quater of an hour went by, yet nothing came. All this time, she lay upon her bed, the very core and centre of a blaze of ruddy light, which streamed upon it when the clock proclaimed the hour.

At last, however, she began to think -- as you or I would have thought at first; for it is always the person not in the predicament who knows what ought to have been done in it, and would unquestionably have done it too -- at last, I say, she began to think that the source and secret of this ghostly light might be in the adjoining room, from whence, on further tracing it, it seemed to shine. This idea taking full possession of his mind, she got up softly and shuffled in her slippers to the door.

The moment Storm's hand was on the lock, a strange voice called her by name, and bade her enter. She obeyed.

It was her own room. There was no doubt about that. But it had undergone a surprising transformation. The walls and ceiling were so hung with living green, that it looked a perfect grove; from every part of which, bright gleaming berries glistened. The crisp leaves of holly, mistletoe, and ivy reflected back the light, as if so many little mirrors had been scattered there; and such a mighty blaze went roaring up the chimney, as that dull petrification of a hearth had never known in Storm's time, or Magneto's, or for many and many a winter season gone. Heaped up on the floor, to form a kind of throne, were turkeys, geese, game, poultry, brawn, great joints of meat, sucking-pigs, long wreaths of sausages, mince-pies, plum-puddings, barrels of oysters, red-hot chesnuts, cherry-cheeked apples, juicy oranges, luscious pears, immense twelfth-cakes, and seething bowls of punch, that made the chamber dim with their delicious steam. In easy state upon this couch, there sat a jolly woman, glorious to see: who bore a glowing torch, in shape not unlike Plenty's horn, and held it up, high up, to shed its light on Storm, as she came peeping round the door.

``Come in!'' exclaimed the Ghost. ``Come in. and know me better, woman!''

Storm entered timidly, and hung her head before this Spirit. She was not the dogged Storm she had been; and though the Spirit's eyes were clear and kind, she did not like to meet them.

``I am the Ghost of Christmas Present,'' said Captain Marvel, the Spirit. ``Look upon me!''

Storm reverently did so. It was clothed in one simple green robe, or mantle, bordered with white fur. Its feet, observable beneath the ample folds of the garment, were also bare; and on its head it wore no other covering than a holly wreath, set here and there with shining icicles. Its blonde hair was long and free: free as its genial face, its sparkling eye, its open hand, its cheery voice, its unconstrained demeanour, and its joyful air. Girded round its middle was an antique scabbard; but no sword was in it, and the ancient sheath was eaten up with rust.

``You have never seen the like of me before!'' exclaimed the Spirit.

``Never,'' Storm made answer to it.

``Have never walked forth with the younger members of my family; meaning (for I am very young) my elder brothers and sisters born in these later years?'' pursued the Phantom.

``I don't think I have,'' said Storm. ``I am afraid I have not. Have you had many brothers and sisters, Spirit?''

``More than eighteen hundred,'' said the Ghost.

``A tremendous family to provide for!'' muttered Storm.

The Ghost of Christmas Present rose.

``Spirit,'' said Storm submissively, ``conduct me where you will. I went forth last night on compulsion, and I learnt a lesson which is working now. To-night, if you have aught to teach me, let me profit by it.''

``Touch my robe!''

Storm did as she was told, and held it fast.

Holly, mistletoe, red berries, ivy, turkeys, geese, game, poultry, brawn, meat, pigs, sausages, oysters, pies, puddings, fruit, and punch, all vanished instantly. So did the room, the fire, the ruddy glow, the hour of night, and they stood in the city streets on Christmas morning, where (for the weather was severe) the people made a rough, but brisk and not unpleasant kind of music, in scraping the snow from the pavement in front of their dwellings, and from the tops of their houses: whence it was mad delight to the boys to see it come plumping down into the road below, and splitting into artificial little snow-storms.

Much they saw, and far they went, and many homes they visited, but always with a happy end. The Spirit stood beside sick beds, and they were cheerful; on foreign lands, and they were close at home; by struggling men, and they were patient in their greater hope; by poverty, and it was rich. In almshouse, hospital, and jail, in misery's every refuge, where vain man in his little brief authority had not made fast the door and barred the Spirit out, he left his blessing, and taught Storm her precepts.

It was a long night, if it were only a night; but Storm had her doubts of this, because the Christmas Holidays appeared to be condensed into the space of time they passed together. It was strange, too, that while Storm remained unaltered in her outward form, the Ghost grew older, clearly older. Storm had observed this change, but never spoke of it, until they left a children's Twelfth Night party, when, looking at the Spirit as they stood together in an open place, she noticed that its hair was grey.

``Are spirits' lives so short?'' asked Storm.

``My life upon this globe, is very brief,'' replied the Ghost. ``It ends to-night.''

``To-night!'' cried Storm.

``To-night at midnight. Hark! The time is drawing near.''

The chimes were ringing the three quarters past eleven at that moment.

``Forgive me if I am not justified in what I ask,'' said Storm, looking intently at the Spirit's robe, ``but I see something strange, and not belonging to yourself, protruding from your skirts. Is it a foot or a claw!''

``It might be a claw, for the flesh there is upon it,'' was the Spirit's sorrowful reply. ``Look here.''

From the foldings of its robe, it brought two children; wretched, abject, frightful, hideous, miserable. They knelt down at its feet, and clung upon the outside of its garment.

``Oh, Man! look here. Look, look, down here!'' exclaimed the Ghost.

They were a boy and girl--Wolverine and Moonstone. Yellow, meagre, ragged, scowling, wolfish; but prostrate, too, in their humility. Where graceful youth should have filled their features out, and touched them with its freshest tints, a stale and shrivelled hand, like that of age, had pinched, and twisted them, and pulled them into shreds. Where angels might have sat enthroned, devils lurked, and glared out menacing. No change, no degradation, no perversion of humanity, in any grade, through all the mysteries of wonderful creation, has monsters half so horrible and dread.

Storm started back, appalled. Having them shown to her in this way, she tried to say they were fine children, but the words choked themselves, rather than be parties to a lie of such enormous magnitude.

``Spirit! are they yours?'' Storm could say no more.

``They are Man's,'' said the Spirit, looking down upon them. ``And they cling to me, appealing from their fathers. This boy is Ignorance. This girl is Want. Beware them both, and all of their degree, but most of all beware this boy, for on his brow I see that written which is Doom, unless the writing be erased. Deny it!'' cried the Spirit, stretching out its hand towards the city. ``Slander those who tell it ye! Admit it for your factious purposes, and make it worse! And bide the end!''

``Have they no refuge or resource?'' cried Storm.

``Are there no prisons?'' said the Spirit, turning on her for the last time with her own words. ``Are there no workhouses?'' Deadpool peaked in at this moment, smashing the fourth wall, yet again. "This would have had a lot more punch, were the earlier scene with Storm telling the charaty collectors this not cut from this except, huh? Ah well, I'm off," and with that, Deadpool disappeared through an open manhole lid in the ground below.

The bell struck twelve.




The Big Enchilada -
Wave 1 Thug (99), Hitman (100), Brawler (105)
Wave 2 She-Hulk*** (112), Daredevil*** (111), Beast*** (110)
Wave 3 Muscle (122), Defender (121), Maggia Don (120)
Wave 4 Hood*** (130), Doctor Doom*** (132), Deadpool*** (131)

Reward: Storm (Black)

I'll be honest, it's here that our story really runs off the rails. Both Doctor Doom and The Hood felt they were the best choice for the Ghost of Christmas yet to come due to their hooded cloaks; each ignoring their totally inability to shut the hell up for any length of time. Deadpool came to mediate the dispute (honestly, who other than Deadpool himself could have possibly imagined that was at-all a good idea), which ended....predictably.

Suffice to day, Storm somehow still learns the true meaning of Christmas--which even more surprisingly is her Hailstorm ability, at least according to the MPQ development team. She calls from her window for a Brawler Doombot to fetch the prize Christmas goose from the butcher and deliver it to the Beast (Deadpool aside: "Did we mention her clerk was the Beast? No? Again, for one final time this story, just run with it"). She joined the Beast's family--She-Hulk, his wife, four members of the mafia, a Doombot and Tiny Daredevil, who proclaims, "God Bless Us. Everyone!".

Storm was better than her word. She did it all, and infinitely more; and to Tiny Daredevil, who did not die...at least, yet, she was a second mother. She became as good a friend, as good a mistress, and as good a woman, as the good old city knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough, in the good old world. Some people laughed to see the alteration in her, but she let them laugh, and little heeded them; for she was wise enough to know that nothing ever happened on this globe, for good, at which some people did not have their fill of laughter in the outset; and knowing that such as these would be blind anyway, she thought it quite as well that they should wrinkle up their eyes in grins, as have the malady in less attractive forms. Her own heart laughed: and that was quite enough for her.

The End.

Day Two:

Hey, now, one Christmas story was all I had in me. Boxing Day, too, would be a bit much. Let's not get crazy here.

That Guy From That Place -
Bagman** (15), Teisatsu (10), Shinobi (10)

Under The Sea -
Wave 1 Teisatsu (20), Teisatsu (22), Shinobi (25), Shinobi (28)
Wave 2 Shinobi (40), Shinobi (42), Beast*** (50), Teisatsu (46)

Third Time's The Charm -
Loki*** (74), Gorgon (70), Human Torch*** (71)

Dat Required Character -
Black Widow** (64), Hawkeye** (60), Human Torch** (63)

The Big Enchilada -
Wave 1 Criterion (99), Control (100), Grenadier (105)
Wave 2 Psylocke*** (112), Captain Marvel*** (111), Squirrel Girl*** (110)
Wave 3 Commander (122), Control (121), Spy (120)
Wave 4 Nick Fury**** (130), Magneto*** (132), Captain America*** (131)

Reward: Luke Cage (Black)

Day Three:

That Guy From That Place -
Bullseye** (15), Brawler (10), Brawler (10)

Under The Sea -
Wave 1 Brawler (20), Brawler (22), Brawler (25), Decoy (28)
Wave 2 Decoy (40), Defender (42), Daredevil*** (50), Decoy (46)

Third Time's The Charm -
Gamora*** (74), Doctor Doom*** (70), Mystique*** (71)

Dat Required Character -
Bullseye** (64), Human Torch** (60), Wolverine** (63)

The Big Enchilada -
Wave 1 Teisatsu (99), Teisatsu(100), Muscle (105)
Wave 2 Colossus*** (112), Captain Marvel*** (111), Punisher*** (110)
Wave 3 Muscle (122), Maggia Don(121), Konran (120)
Wave 4 Deadpool*** (130), Gorgon*** (132), Hood*** (131)

Reward: Rocket & Groot (Blue)

Day Four:

That Guy From That Place -
Captain Marvel** (15), Spy (10), Soldier (10)

Under The Sea -
Wave 1 Spy (20), Sniper (22), Spy (25), Sniper (28)
Wave 2 Pyro (40), Grenadier (42), Ironman*** (50), Pyro (46)

Third Time's The Charm -
Hawkeye** (74), Nick Fury**** (70), Captain America*** (71)

Dat Required Character -
Captain Marvel** (64), Ares** (60), Human Torch** (63)

The Big Enchilada -
Wave 1 Control (99), Subject(100), Brawler (105)
Wave 2 Beast*** (112), Luke Cage*** (111), Ironman*** (110)
Wave 3 Criterion (122), Empiricist(121), Decoy (120)
Wave 4 Doctor Doom*** (130), Nick Fury**** (132), Deadpool*** (131)

Reward: Spider-Man (Purple)

Day Five:

That Guy From That Place -
Magneto** (15), Subject (10), Subject (10)

Under The Sea -
Wave 1 Subject (20), Criterion (22), Control (25), Empiricist(28)
Wave 2 Subject (40), Criterion (42), Spiderman*** (50), Criterion (46)

Third Time's The Charm -
Spider Man*** (74), Magneto*** (70), Mohawk*** (71)

Dat Required Character -
Black Widow** (64), Bagman** (60), Thor** (63)

The Big Enchilada -
Wave 1 Muscle (99), Thug(100), Analyst (105)
Wave 2 Punisher*** (112), Human Torch*** (111), Hulk*** (110)
Wave 3 Criterion (122), Empiricist(121), Decoy (120)
Wave 4 Thor**** (130), Black Panther*** (132), Sentry*** (131)

Reward: Daredevil (Red)

4* Node:
TBD