Harley Keener remembered.
Everyone did. It was strange and bizarre and frightening.
But it wasn't happening to them. It was happening to them.
All those devils on Earth. All those plagues and villains who roamed the globe vanished out of existence. Sprinkled into ash. The world fell in rejoice... and in turmoil.
Because it wasn't just the terrorists, the Neo-Nazis and the mafia who vanished.
It was half of the American government. It was a good chunk of the United Nations. It was generals and commanders of different armies. It was CEOs and CFOs and Presidents of companies around the world. It was scientists and researchers. It was journalists and media personalities. It was bankers and stock traders. Police officers. Lawyers. Judges. DMV employees.
People cried for help, begging the Avengers to come and solve this sudden atrocity. Surviving news outlets dubbed it the rapture, calling for Earth's protectors to save the day. The Avengers never responded.
Tony Stark did.
The world fell apart and Iron Man stepped up to the plate to save it from collapse. He put the world back into order in lickety-split, starting with the establishment of the 50-State Initiative teams in America. The teams consisted of fully trained and equipped enhanced individuals with permission to engage and police any and all threats. The successful runs in America and positive public support got them to set up teams in different countries as well.
Stark led the world out of the horror and craziness. He glued the world back in order. The world was fixed. The world was safe. World peace at last, some claimed.
Others thought differently.
And that was why Harley hunkered down at a wobbling desk, balancing himself on a broken chair as he stared at two ancient monitor screens. He was tracking a signal through a series of messy codes.
"Anything yet?"
Harley didn't even blink up. "Nope."
An agitated huff came from above. "Are you sure this will work?"
Now, Harley swung around to face his accuser. "O-Kay... you know, patience is a highly valuable trait these days," he said. "Cultivate it."
Michelle Jones rolled her eyes as she huffed. Her messy, coarse curls were bundled into an untidy bun and her unimpressed expression never changed. She always looked disappointed by the world. And maybe she had a good reason for it.
"Sorry that I placed your skills on a high pedestal," she quipped. "Thought you were as brilliant as Ned."
"No one is as brilliant as Ned."
"Aww... thanks guys," came Ned Leed's voice as he popped his head over Harley's monitors. His parted hair style slightly over-gelled. His sharp, brown eyes gleaming at the compliments. Even though Ned was a college student, studying computer science at Columbia, Harley kept mistaking him as a middle school student.
Harley swiveled in his broken chair. "Besides, it's not that it's not working, it's that things like this take time," he explained to Michelle. "Stark has the best technology and; therefore, the best way to beat his tech is to go old school."
"Hence the eighties retro," Ned piped up.
Harley gave him a respective nod. "Exactly," he said. "And like all eighties and nineties kids learned... patience is a virtue."
Michelle just looked at the devices in scorn. "Well, tell that to our former comrades," she remarked. "They lost all their time."
Harley sighed. He remembered coming down to headquarters to learn another Resistance cell was wiped out. SHIELD and the New York's Iron Fist caught them, and many friends and colleagues were gone. Prison or death, no one knew. They mourned for a moment, but got back to work. That was life. People coming and going. They couldn't stop. Not for the dead and not for the living.
They were the last resistance cell in New York. Hope rested on them.
At least, that was what Michelle said in her speech to them the morning after the defeat of the Brooklyn Resistance.
"We get it, Michelle," Harley said, wiping a hand down his face to hide his exhaustion over the discussion. "But, seriously, this is our best bet. Stark is an uber genius. He can hack into any system he wants, except... old school Macs with floppy disks." He raised a retro, orange-colored floppy disk. "May not get things instantly, but if we want to remain undetected, this is what we have to use."
"Fine," Michelle huffed, arms crossed over her chest. "Let me know if you get anything."
"Will do, boss lady," Harley snapped a salute to her. Michelle rolled her eyes and marched away from the computer herd. He swiveled back to the monitors. "Ned?"
"Yeah, Har?"
"Remind me to purchase a pair of headphones. That way I can tune nonsense out."
Ned forced a chuckle at the joke, but ducked his head back behind his monitor to keep working. It's what they all do during the night. They hid underground, in the middle of Queens, an abandoned church to be exact, to work on dismantling Stark's regime. Michelle led the team, founded the group with Ned Leeds and others. Some moved on, losing hope or disinterested in their fight. Acceptance was what Michelle called it. Those who reached that point stopped believing they could change the world and decided to simply live with what they were given. Michelle refused to live in such a manner and encouraged others to not accept the tyranny that posed as a savior in these dark times.
"Darkness brings out the monsters," Michelle said to them during a team "pick-me-up" speech. "We need to fight those monsters."
Harley believed their resistance's success was in part due to Michelle's leadership and cunning mind. Without her, the resistance would have collapsed long before Brooklyn's or even Manhattan's cells. She was good at scouting talent, finding the right people for different jobs. Ned was her right-hand man. He was able to hack into high profile buildings and agencies, to locate different sources and intercept communications to help plan their rebuttals against Stark.
Harley helped too. He was Ned's right-hand man, assisting in tracking information, computing and designing their own algorithms to insert into different computing systems to keep them informed of any new developments. Most of the bugs they planted became compromised, but those that held out turned beneficial, making it easy for them to hit their targets hard.
A ping interrupted Harley's thoughts, drawing his attention back to the screen. He typed away, bringing up the alert and studying it for a moment.
"Hey, Michelle!" he called over his shoulder.
Michelle was at his side. "Got it?"
Harley nodded. "Yeah, here," he leaned away from the screen to show her the black and neon green grid. "Location is... Stamford, Connecticut."
Michelle peered at the screen, her eyes scrutinizing the results. She hummed, rolling her lips while Ned wheeled over to check it out.
"Connecticut?" Ned said, befuddled by the results. "Why there?"
Harley shrugged. "How should I know?"
"But... Stark's headquarters are in New York."
"Excellent point."
"But it's Connecticut!"
"Excellent observation."
"Shut it, Keener," Michelle ordered as she dropped her chin in her palm, contemplating. "It's gotta be it."
"Okay, so... what exactly is it?" Harley questioned and wasn't that the main question? What was the ultimate plan? "I mean, what exactly are we even looking at? It looks like an abandoned piece of property. Nothing, really. What are we supposed to do with that? Hack nothing?"
"It's not nothing," Michelle stated, certain. "It's called the Negative Zone or something like that."
Harley and Ned shared an odd look with one another. "Negative Zone?" Harley repeated, a smile creeping up on his face as if it was a prank. "Seriously?"
"It's what I was told."
"By whom? A comic artist?"
Michelle's eyes narrowed. "Someone reliable," she curtly replied.
Ned cocked his head to the side. "What is it? This... 'Negative Zone'?" he asked, curious, and their small band of misfits leaned in to hear. "Is it like an area where they contain all the outwardly relics? Like Thor's hammer?"
"Why would they have Thor's hammer?" Harley questioned. "Wouldn't it be with Thor? In whatever that new place they call home? New Asgard?"
"Well, I don't know. Negative Zone sounds like something dangerous."
"Sounds like a tall-tale."
"It's our big break," Michelle interrupted the duo with a loud sigh, but the corners of her lips tugged into a little smile. "It's what we need to dismantle Stark's power."
Silence. Eyes all looking at each other, hoping they weren't the only ones lost by Michelle's ramblings.
Harley cleared his throat. "O-kay... what exactly is this big break? What is the Negative Zone?"
Michelle shrugged. "Don't know for sure, but... it's big. That's what I was told. Apparently, it's something Stark had for a long time."
Everyone all took another glance around the room, hoping the other understood more than the next person. Unfortunately, they all seemed out of the loop. Harley rolled his eyes. Not that he didn't believe in Michelle, but her outside sources were sketchy and mysterious. These sources popped up out of nowhere and unknown to everyone, but her. Left hesitation and doubt among the rest of the resistance to trust the intelligence, but Michelle did. She always believed in everything she found, even if it was nothing more than a grain of salt, like this 'Negative Zone'. Something like that would have been whispered around town and the fact no one else ever heard of it until now made it feel more like they were chasing tail. A fake out or scam, but Harley kept his silence, waiting on Michelle to say more.
Michelle looked at her watch. "Pack up everyone," she ordered. "See you until next time."
Everyone started to power down, unplugging every gadget, stuffing paper files into brown envelope wallets and roping them off before sliding them into their hidden, locked compartments. Harley and Ned busied themselves, working on saving their information and evidence before dismantling their work station. It was a hassle and a nuisance, but Michelle's orders. If they want to avoid getting busted, they needed to keep anything electrical dead while away. No need to hand over the evidence so easily with their backs turn.
Harley thought it was overkill, but obliged to Michelle's orders. Do as the boss says.
Another one of Michelle's fond strategies was to depart from headquarters in a staggered pattern. No mass departure. Harley and Ned waited for their turn before walking out under the night's inky sky to catch the subway. They always paired up, walking together to the nearest subway station as a part of their disguise. Harley was three years older than Ned Leeds, but they both looked like college students with their overstuffed backpacks and youthful looks. Except, only Ned was an actual college student. Harley worked at Spectrum as a field technician, which he had back-to-back appointments starting tomorrow at eight in the morning. Need to do everything to pay the rent and bills.
They got to the subway platform, finding out they had a long seven minute wait for their train to arrive. They took to the wooden bench and sat down.
"I gotta finish my term paper," Ned moaned, slugging his backpack off and onto his lap. "I got an extension on it, but I have five more pages to go."
"Oh yeah?"
"My fault really. I knew about it, but kept putting it off," Ned confessed, shaking his head guiltily. "It's just... college almost seems utterly pointless with everything happening. With how the world is run nowadays."
Harley nudged his head in slight agreement. "The world may be heading to hell, Neddy, but it's still best you get a degree," he advised. "Gotta earn a living. Don't wanna be like me, am I right?"
"You're not doing so bad. You have a job."
Harley snorted. "As a cable guy. Not exactly living the dream," he grunted. "But you're hellua a lot smarter than me. You could actually be a CEO of your own computer company one day."
"You think so?"
"Sure. As long as you graduate first."
"I know," Ned sighed, shoulders dropping. He went silent for a minute before a sparkle flashed in his eyes. "Hey? What are you doing this weekend? I could use a hand in calibrating the—"
"I'm joining my mom and sister in upstate New York," Harley answered. "See how she's enjoying her new school and everything. Listen to my mom say how I'm wasting my life away. All good things."
"I don't think you're wasting your life away," Ned said, trying to be supportive.
Harley smirked a little. "Oh, I know," he said. "My mom has always been hard on me because of my dad. It's just how it is. I tune her out most of the time. Same old lecture. Kind of have it memorized at this point."
The subway came and they boarded. Ned left after two stops and Harley one stop later. He hoisted his backpack over his shoulder as he walked down the relatively quiet streets of Forest Hills. City life was quite different from his childhood home in the country of Tennessee. Less green, less space and more concrete than he ever seen in his life. Buildings were smashed together, squeezed into every crook and cranny to make way for more buildings. Harley missed the fresh air, but New York—Queens—provided opportunities that he never received in Tennessee.
Of course, the same could be returned. Tennessee never smelled as strongly as New York. He remembered the aroma of fresh grass, the smell of rain and blooming flowers; not the reek of garbage and rat droppings. The noise level was far quieter too. Harley struggled to sleep during his first few weeks living in his cramped apartment. And that was another thing. Space! God, he missed his bigger bedroom.
Then again, he couldn't walk into a deli store in Tennessee and order a sandwich at this time of hour. Only in New York were places open all day and night to provide citizens with whatever they desire.
One of those places happened to be Harley's corner deli. Harley greeted Mr. Delmar as he entered, waiting in line to order his food. Mr. Delmar busied behind the counter, making a sandwich for the person ahead of Harley. The person's disheveled appearance contrasted Mr. Delmar's clean bodega, but the owner didn't seem to mind. Harley, however, had to take a large step back from the person. The guy reeked of death.
Mr. Delmar handed the smelly customer the wrapped sandwich. "Smashed like you want it," the owner said.
Harley greatly appreciated it when the guy quickly paid and left. He didn't know how long he could keep holding his breath.
Mr. Delmar looked to Harley. "Back again?" he teased a smile at him. "I said you would be hooked. Always coming at odd hours to order my famous sandwiches. Soon, you will sell your own soul to me, eh?"
"Probably," Harley bantered along. "You already made me an addict. Stealing all my money away. Soon, I'll have to move-in here. Hey! Maybe I could meet this daughter of yours?"
"Don't get cute," Mr. Delmar scolded. "What will it be?"
Harley ordered a roast beef sandwich and a pack of Debbie snack cakes before he bundled them in a bag to get back to his apartment. "See you tomorrow, Mr. Delmar!"
Mr. Delmar waved back and helped another late-night customer. Harley walked a few more blocks before he arrived at his apartment building. He hiked up the three flight of stairs, regretting each time that he picked a walk-up apartment rather than an apartment with an elevator. Unfortunately, elevators in New York would make his rental fee double, so he grudgingly took the stairs and cursed his luck underneath his breath.
Calves tensed from the constant climb, Harley was thankful to reach his floor and pulled out his keys to fall into his tiny apartment. In his eagerness, the keys jumbled with his fingers and fell right at the door.
"Damn it," he cursed, hating his luck.
He squatted down to pick up his fallen keys and... he froze.
A few inches away from his keys was a tiny, wood wedge that he normally inserted between his door and threshold. His security wedge as he liked to call it. Kept him informed if anyone broke into his apartment. And someone did if it was laying on the floor next to his keys.
Harley swiped up his keys, erecting to full height as he assessed the situation. His ears picked up no noise, but that didn't mean anything. Traps and surprise attacks don't call for noise. Keys gripped into a make-shift weapon, he brought up his old, batty watch, tapping the sides twice until a blue screen popped up—a hologram sprouting information.
Lowering his head, Harley whispered into the hologram. "Secure 401."
The hologram flickered. A report shuffled through and Harley scanned the readings. "Jesus Christ," he muttered, relaxed as he turned his watch off and stabbed his keys into the lock. With a twist, he jerked the door open. "Could've told me you were coming."
Sitting in his lounge chair was no other than Robert Reynolds, his superior officer.
Reynolds' blonde hair gleamed like gold underneath the lamp and blue eyes humored over Harley's exasperation. He got up from the chair, his head nearly reaching the low ceiling. The man looked restricted standing in Harley's apartment. A big man in a tiny apartment. Harley swiftly closed and locked the door behind him.
"How did it go?" inquired Reynolds once the apartment was secured and privacy attained. "Did it work?"
Harley gave a heavy, agitated sigh. "I managed to manipulate the tracking to ping onto Stamford rather than the Baxter Building. So... you're welcome." He moved across his apartment toward the kitchen and dumped his late-night dinner on the counter. "Did you guys ever find out who blabbed about the Hole?"
Reynolds followed Harley to the kitchen, leaning up against the archway. "A guilty conscious," he answered. "Confessed it to Robertson earlier this week."
Robbie Robertson. One of the surviving journalists of the sudden rapture. Lately, he's been a thorn to their side, always looking at Stark's philanthropic gestures like it was some kind of soul-binding, devil deal.
"That means Robertson is Jones's source," Harley deduced.
"We took care of that," Reynolds informed him. "Robertson won't be a problem anymore."
Harley paused in unwrapping of his sandwich. "You killed him?"
"Nah—just ruined his reputation," Reynolds responded. "Got witnesses and others to publish accusations of Robertson's wrongdoings and lies throughout his career. So, anything he says about the Negative Zone will simply fall on deaf ears and his boss won't publish anything he writes in regards to it.
"And as for other guy," Reynolds went to Harley's fridge and pulled out his Britta filter and poured a glass for himself. "He's exactly there."
There as in the Hole. Right where he belonged for his traitorous actions.
"Good," Harley said, stuffing his mouth with meat, cheese and bread. "But we need to silence this entirely. Jones is really interested. And knowing her, she won't stop until she unveils it and/or destroys it. So, I gotta ask... how much longer do I need to pretend before we gank this group?"
Reynolds made a disturbed expression. "Easy, kid," he settled his cup down on the counter. "No need to get all violent. Stark wants you to stick with them. See if there is anything unusual or if there's any connections that we need to be aware about."
"Like what?" Harley inquired, tired of being kept out or given little information to work off. "I've been with them for almost a year and I still have no idea what I'm supposed to be doing. Am I supposed to go after Jones? Ned? I mean... why the hell am I still here in Queens?"
When I can be doing other and better things, Harley thought.
On slower days, Harley daydreamed of working alongside Tony Stark as his protégé and learning from the man. He imagined himself becoming Tony's confidant, building technological designs together, and being Tony's right-hand man for the future. Harley dreamed of working in tandem with Tony in defeating their enemies that threatened a revolution to this new, peaceful world. One of them was Michelle Jones and Harley wanted to serve her justice, but every attempt he made to initiate the process of wiping out Queens' Resistance was denied. He was told to stay put, keep his eyes open and ears listening.
Reynolds sighed, understandably. "I get it," he said. "Hell—I don't even know why Stark is holding out. I mean, I think I know, but it's… whatever. Could be focusing on something else, but I guess it has its merits. Infiltrating the enemy and all. May help us learn their ways and figure out if there are any other hidden resistances."
"So far, there's none," Harley replied. "Not after Brooklyn was wiped out."
"Outside of New York."
Harley took another bite of his sandwich, frustrated. "Well, if Jones knows another group, she isn't sharing it with the rest of us," he said, chewing. "She's gonna focus on the Hole, Reynolds. If she keeps digging… we'll have to do something. Eliminate her or the whole group."
"Probably," Reynolds agreed with a shrug, not at all concerned on the matter. Maybe if Reynolds actually met her, he may share the same anxiety Harley has in the pit of his stomach. "But for now, remain a rebel. Be a friend. A good listener. Stay the course."
"I know, I know," Harley nodded his head along. "I'm a fully trained SHIELD agent. Remember?"
"Ranked the best in the class," Reynolds said with a smile. "I know. I was there."
Of course, Reynolds was there. He recruited Harley to his team, to which Tony wholeheartedly approved. Harley was pleased and while his mother didn't attend the inauguration of the new agents of SHIELD, Tony supported him and even took him out to a celebratory dinner afterwards at an upscale restaurant. It was one of Harley's happiest moments in his entire life.
He tossed his crusts and crumbs into the garbage. "Fine. I'll keep up the guise," he said. "If Jones sticks her nose further into it though..."
"We'll take affirmative action," Reynolds agreed to Harley's unsaid message. Then, the man craftily smirked at him. "She must be some character to be around. You make her out to be quite the nemesis. How come she hasn't rooted you out yet?"
"Because I'm better."
Reynolds snorted, chuckling at his response. "Right you are," he said, patting Harley's shoulder. "I best get going. Report my weekly debriefs. All those fun things."
"Cool," Harley said. "But, hey, um next time you do these visits, let me know beforehand. What if I brought people over? Like Jones or Ned? Or if I wanted to spend time with a girl—"
"Do you mean Laura?" Reynolds asked, intrigued. "How's she doing?"
"Don't know," Harley shrugged, nonchalantly. "Haven't spoken to her in a while. What? We weren't dating. And that's not the point—I need to know when you're going to show up. That way my cover won't get blown."
"Don't worry about that," Reynolds brushed aside. "My appearances aren't random. I know when to appear and when not to, including if you decide to bring someone back here." He eyed the whole, tiny apartment. "But, if you wish, I'll inform you next time."
Harley smoldered his frustration and gave a tight reply. "Thanks."
Reynolds headed to the door, picking up his hat from where he left it on the bookcase. "Are we to see you upstate this weekend?"
"Yeah," Harley answered as he went to get the door for the man. "I'll be there Saturday. Tony and I are meeting up for dinner."
Reynolds slowly nodded. "I'm sure he'll be delighted to see you again," he commented. "Been awhile since the two of you met up."
"Just three weeks."
Tony had been away to Europe, meeting delegates from other countries and setting up the World Order Council (WOC). It took a lot of time, paperwork and people to get the system set into place. Tony worked on it for months, trying to find the right people, trustful people, to do the job. Lots of plane trips, meetings and late nights. Tony confided to Harley about his hopes on quickly setting up the WOC, so that he could relax more. Focus back on things that mattered to him. Like his friends and family. Tony then gave him a little smile, "Like you, kid."
Harley hoped everything went well. He looked forward to be able to spend more time with Tony. Learn from the master, maybe even build a suit of his own. Fight alongside with Tony Stark, watching his back as Tony watched his. The Invincible Duo!
That was the dream.
Reynolds grabbed the doorknob and twisted it to open. "I'll see you later, kid," he said. "You did good work today. Stark's going to really appreciate it."
Harley grinned, knowing well that Tony appreciated everything he did. Unlike his own mother. "Yeah, okay," he said to Reynolds. "See you this weekend."
"G'night, kid."
Reynolds was gone and Harley strode to his cramped bedroom, feet tripping over the uneven flooring. He groaned a little at the crappy structure of his apartment. He couldn't wait for this to be over and return home, back to the Compound on a more permanent basis.
Unfortunately, he was still stuck playing Resistance soldier to Michelle. God… that girl was trouble. Reynolds may not see it yet, but Harley did. She was going to become more problematic for them. They needed to get rid of her.
Sooner rather than later.
