They looked like cotton candy. Dipped in mud, rolled around in a dirt-covered driveway, then glued to the dark gray sky like a supernatural kindergarten project. They were thick, chunky dark clouds with a seemingly endless blast of torrential water dumping from them. The curtain of rain washed down diagonal to the roaring ocean water below; a churning, rolling sea of dark green underneath the barely moonlit sky. In this area of the Gulf of Mexico, the water was devoid of ships, partly due to weather, but mostly due to legend and folklore. Mossy green water smashed down onto the rocks of the island, a lone land mass in the empty sea. The terrain was rocky, jagged and unforgiving. Local storytellers speak warily of this island, nervous tales of danger and death. Many local fishermen disappeared near it, and this minor fact escalated into tales of sea creatures and Bermuda Triangle type mysteries. The men who steer clear are wise men; because whatever stories have been concocted about the island only partially do the place justice. It is an island of danger and death. An island of mystery and evil. Cobra Island. It is not a large body of land, but is still a very intimidating one. The shores are rocky and uneven. No sandy beaches or palm trees. No life guard stations or beach houses. Only stone shores and vacated machine gun nests surround it. Even inland, the picture does not change. Corpses of buildings lie scattered about the countryside. Ruins and rubble, smashed concrete and pulverized asphalt. It appears to be a graveyard for military institutions, bunkers and airfields, hastily constructed shortly after a major battle, with no time for proper burials for the unfortunate victims. The land is absent of life. Wildlife has practically abandoned the place, and no humans could possibly survive on whatever is left of vegetation and animals. Only one building stood, a proud god overseeing his battered and broken minions who lie smashed and crumbled on the ground. A tall, thick concrete bunker-like tower jutting up to the black sky, a single window peering over the crashing seas. Looking over its domain. A thundering boom echoed across the empty ocean just as a blue-white fork of electricity plunged from the heavens.

"Tempt me no more; for I have known the lightning’s hour, the poet’s inward pride, the certainty of power." The man stood in the large, open window, staring out to see. No lights shone in the room, leaving it in a dirty darkness, lit merely by crescent moonlight. The room sat atop the large tower, with only one window. A large, stone fireplace was against the east wall, yet no fire was lit. There was a dark, thick maroon carpet from wall to wall, a desk, many books in bookshelves, and few pictures adorning the walls. It appeared to be the typical office or den of any home. Another bolt of lightning scorched through the air and briefly illuminated the darkened room.

"A bit…melodramatic, don’t you think, Commander?"

The man framed by the large window turned slightly, chuckling as rain pounded against the thick glass. A low rumble of thunder bellowed in the distance. His hood swayed fluidly over his broad shoulders as another flash of lightning reflected white barbs in the squinting eyes just behind.

"Now, Destro…there is little either of us have done over the years that wouldn’t have been construed as melodramatic."

"Correct you are."

The Commander turned back to the window, seemingly at peace with the raging weather beyond. "Tell me, my friend," he began plainly, not turning. "What brings you back into the fold? Certainly your past visit with the Brainwave Scanner has not had a permanent effect on you?"

"You know me by now, Cobra Commander. I have certain loyalties."

"Yes, I know. Those loyalties have put us at odds in the past. Loyalties and your accursed honor."

"Even among thieves and villains, honor must have its place."

"Overrated if you ask me." The Commander inhaled and finally turned from the window just as another streak of white barreled down onto the shore behind the tower. The lightning once again illuminated the room, sending a sharp glare from Destro’s beryllium steel silver helmet. Cobra Commander squinted and spoke again. "You still did not answer my question."

Destro ran a black leather gloved hand over the metal covering his face. A family tradition for the McCullen clan of Scotland. Once a vicious punishment was now a sign of pride and honor. "I may have my loyalties, Commander, but I still have…expenses. Running a weapon manufacturing empire does not come cheap.

"Ahh…as always in this blasted capitalist world…it just boils down to the almighty dollar."

"Besides, Commander…you have calmed a bit lately. Frankly, you are much easier to be around."

The Commander chuckled yet again. "I’m not sure whether to thank you or to have you shot where you stand. I do agree, however. My past ambitions have been somewhat lofty."

"Attainable goals are so much more gratifying."

Cobra Commander turned back towards the window, gazing longingly into the black night. He could barely see through the wall of pouring rain, and the rumbling thunder vibrated the glass pane of the window. "We are close to initiation, Destro. So very close."

"Yes, Commander. All has progressed smoothly so far. But we still have a few shipments we are waiting on."

"Back to basics, my friend. That is what will ensure our victory."

"Trained men and weapons of destruction."

"Yes. We were outgrowing ourselves, I think. This cut back and regroup was a necessary step towards our ultimate success."

"Is the core group back on board?"

"All of the surviving ones anyway," Cobra Commander said, turning his head slightly. In the distance he could barely make out the large mountain jutting from the surface of the island. He almost smiled when he remembered the freighter buried underneath.

"No hard feelings?"

Another chuckle. The Commander appeared to be in a very good mood. Lightning flashed again, a jagged white streak gashing across his sparkling pupils. The room was bathed in brightness for a split second, then dipped back into the inkwell of night. "Like you, Destro, they were surprisingly forgiving for the right price."

"The Baroness and I are definitely onboard. May I ask who else has confirmed?"

"Dr. Mindbender of course. He is in the laboratory section right now, working on some…projects. These new projects could alone turn the tide in our favor."

"What about Zartan?"

"Zartan and the Dreadnoks have also agreed to my terms. At the moment I believe they are in the training room with some of the new recruits teaching them the ins and outs of violence and wanton destruction."

Destro took a step towards Cobra Commander, crossing his arms. "Speaking of destruction, what about Firefly? Did you contact him?"

"Firefly was a challenge. His reputation was quite tarnished by that imposter in the garish green outfit using his name."

"Imposter?" Destro leaned closer.

"Oh, yes…that was just a renegade ninja from the Arishikage clan who thought he could use his name to take control over the clan and to have Storm Shadow killed. That was no more Firefly than Fred VII was me!"

"Interesting…so what happened to the imposter?"

"Firefly caught up with him. Apparently all the ninja skills in the world can’t defend you from a well placed shaped charge under the engine block of your ’78 Pinto."

This time it was Destro’s turn to laugh. "But Firefly has joined up, then?"

"To a certain extent. He is being paid to a Swiss Bank account and is not officially employed by Cobra, but he has already completed phase one of our plan."

"And that is?"

"He has ensured the safety of our first shipment from Trans Carpathia. Raw materials and supplies to begin rebuilding our army of H.I.S.S. Tanks and Rattlers. Like you said, we still await a few shipments, but we are on the verge of completion. The men have been recruited and trained and the bulk of our machinery is up and running. This will be a great day for the Cobra organization! The best part is, no one even knows we exist!"

"Hopefully we can keep that advantage, Commander. But much can change in one week. I have certain things I must attend to. We are expecting a shipment any time now. I will leave you to your thunder storm."

"Very well, Destro. I will see you in the morning. Tomorrow you, The Baroness, Scrap Iron, Dr. Mindbender and I will go over the rough draft of our plan. Seven days and counting until our victory is complete."

Destro nodded and turned then left the darkened room. Cobra Commander stood there alone still framed by the window. Another flash of lightning lit the room, revealing a young girl standing next to the Commander. She looked up at him and he turned to look down at her. Long, jet-black hair ran to her shoulder blades, and her slim form stood to just about five and a half feet. She turned her head towards the doorway to make sure Destro had left.

"Can he be trusted?" she asked, scowling.

"Don’t worry, my dear…I have faith in him."

"Just give me the word. I will take care of him."

"Whisper, my sweet…believe me, you will be the first to know."

"I am ready for the first part of the plan."

"Have patience. The time will come soon enough. But sooner than anyone realizes. You are the key, Whisper. For the past eighteen years you have trained for this moment. This is your time in the sun. Do not let me down."

"Don’t worry, Father. I don’t plan to."

Cobra Commander smiled behind his billowing blue hood and bent slightly to hug his daughter.