May 23rd, 2010; Washington, D.C. …
Ellen climbed the stairs until she reached the second floor. The restaurant had been bought out for the evening, every table empty except one. The only customer sat in a corner booth at the far end of the room. A bodyguard in a black suit blocked her path when she tried to approach. "The senator doesn't want to be disturbed. Please leave." He grabbed her by the shoulder and gently pushed her back.
She paused, looking down at his hand before looking him in the eye. Big mistake. Then, quick as a snake, she grabbed his index finger and twisted it back painfully. The bodyguard whimpered. Ellen then drove her knee into his groin, causing him to squeal. An elbow to the face dropped him to the floor, neutralized and in agony.
The anger from his unwanted touch lingered, and she forced herself to take deep breaths. Senator Stern nervously swallowed his bite of steak, tugging at his collar. "Was that…really necessary?"
Ellen fixed him with an annoyed glare. "I don't like it when people touch me. At all."
"Noted," he said, glancing down at his brutalized bodyguard.
Sitting across from him, she sighed and rested her arms on the table. "What the hell happened? How could you let Stark walk away like that? You had one goddamned job."
Dabbing his Botoxed lips, Stern replied, "Look, I tried my best. Stark is…he's an asshole, okay? I admit I lost control of the crowd for a bit, but–"
"That's because your first mistake was trying to use the press to embarrass him in person. Never let Stark get in front of the camera; the guy is charming and charismatic, and people are more willing to trust him than a politician like you. And now because of your screwup, Hammer Industries lost its exclusive contract with the military."
"How was I supposed to know he'd hack into our systems like that?"
She had to take a moment to process his statement. "It is Tony. Stark. When you get him in the room, you confiscate his devices. Then he doesn't have the chance to humiliate Justin Hammer on live television!"
Stern smacked his lips. "Hammer humiliated himself. That-that was a disaster."
"On that, we can agree."
"Look, at the end of the day, Stark created the Iron Man weapon on his own. That doesn't make it Stark Industries' property, it makes it his personal property. And the American people will always respond well when an individual resists handing his property to the government. It's that simple."
Ellen leaned back, tapping her fingers on the table. While she hated to admit it, Stern was right. Stark had thus far proven too popular, and his efforts as Iron Man against the Ten Rings and other global threats made him a hero around the world. If HYDRA wanted to take his suit, they'd have to find a way to discredit him. Ever since the emergence of Iron Man and everything his tech represented, Ellen had made it her mission to acquire it. It would be her chance to make a massive difference as well as prove to her father she belonged by his side.
The sound of Formula One cars drew her gaze to the overhead television, where cameras focused on a blue car with Stark Industries painted on the side. When the news coverage listed the driver's name, Ellen frowned.
"Is that Stark?"
Stern looked up at the television. "Oh, yeah. He took over for his driver at the Grand Prix. Just some arrogant publicity stunt. Anyway, I think our next step has to be…"
Ellen drowned him out as she watched the race. Stark's car zoomed across the track, and he actually had a decent chance of winning the race. Then the cameras focused on something else, a maintenance worker stepping onto the track without a care in the world. The man must have been suicidal, she figured. Then, the top of his orange jumpsuit melted away, revealing some type of armoured body frame. And were those electrified whips?
The next thing she knew, Stark's car was sliced in half and tumbling through the air. A few seconds later, the other cars collided with each other as they tried to stop. Stern looked up at this point, flabbergasted at the events on screen.
They watched Stark barely avoid his attacker's whips, battered and knocked around like a ragdoll. Then, a Rolls Royce smashed into the mysterious man, who promptly sliced it in half vertically. Ellen recognized Happy Hogan, Stark's bodyguard and driver, as he tossed a red suitcase over to him. Stark unlocked the case, which splayed open. He put it on his chest, and it expanded into a fully functioning Iron Man suit. Ingenious, she had to admit.
As the two men battled it out on the track, she furrowed her brow. In the centre of the attacker's armoured frame was a glowing power source. Now that Stark had his suit on, she noticed the similarities. And then it came to her. "Holy shit," she said. "That looks like an Arc Reactor!"
"What? Where?" Stern asked.
"The guy with the whips. Look at his chest."
He squinted, then said, "Oh my God. I think you're right. But how can that be? The only person who understands that technology is Stark."
"Apparently someone else figured it out." Soon enough, Stark had ripped out the attacker's reactor, and the whips lost their power. The police then restrained and dragged him away as emergency workers tried to deal with the chaos. Looking back at Stern, Ellen said, "I think the universe just gave us another chance."
"How's that?" he asked, looking confused.
"Stark claimed sole possession of Arc Reactor technology. But a terrorist just used it in full view on global news. Who's to say there aren't others out there with the same capabilities?"
"So…what should we do?"
Ellen rolled her eyes. "Not 'we'. You. You need to use this. Get the media to go after Stark, play up the dangers of such a potent weapon in the hands of the enemy. Once public opinion shifts, we should be able to get the military to take the Iron Man suit and deliver it to us."
"Okay, sure. I'll take care of that." When she got up to leave, he added, "Since you're already here, why don't you stay? We could have a nice dinner together. I could show you my wine collection at my place."
She glared at him. "You're a pig. Hail HYDRA."
"Hail HYDRA."
Walking past the bodyguard still on the floor, she took out her phone and hit one on speed dial. "Dad, I'm just on my way back. Did you get a look at the news?"
May 31st, 2010; Seville, Spain…
Ellen stripped out of her catsuit, wincing as the material peeled off the long cut on her arm. The target had managed to surprise her with a knife hidden up his sleeve. It only succeeded in pissing her off, which earned him a throwing dart to the chest laced with a concentrated dose of Carpet Viper venom. After breaking his leg, she'd left him to die from blood clots and intracranial hemorrhage. He'd actually proven to be a challenge, which took her by surprise considering how she'd cut through his gang like a scythe through wheat.
Now, she hunkered down in a safehouse until transport came after dark. Disinfecting the wound, she bandaged herself up before grabbing a can of Diet Coke from the mini fridge and sitting in front of the television.
The Spanish news anchor wasn't subtitled, but Ellen understood everything he said. Beside him were live images from the Stark Expo in New York. A few of the corporations presenting there were fronts for HYDRA, which also wanted to poach the most innovative technologies. Justin Hammer took to the main stage, doing a pathetic little dance on his way to the podium. Ellen rolled her eyes at his lame speech. Perhaps it was a good thing his company lost their government contract; he would've found some way to run it into the ground and destroy a good chunk of HYDRA's investments. Her investments.
When Hammer displayed his new automated drones, she nearly spit out her drink.
One group came after another, with different paint jobs and weapons. Army, Air Force, Marines, every branch of the armed forces. And then Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes rose onto the stage, decked out in a knockoff Iron Man suit with more weapons than a platoon.
"How in the holy hell did Hammer pull this off?" Stark would never willingly part with his technology, so it had to have come from someone else.
After the fight in Monaco, Ellen tried to arrange for the attacker –Ivan Vanko, according to INTERPOL's database– to be taken out of prison and delivered to HYDRA's scientists. But he'd died in an explosion during an escape attempt, stymieing Ellen's continued efforts to acquire Arc Reactor tech. In the short term, they could be used to power the ultimate weapons. But in the long term, they could use Arc Reactors to provide unlimited clean energy for the world; that tool of progress needed to be removed from the hands of a glory hound like Stark.
Apparently, Hammer had gotten to Vanko first, and must have used his talents to design these new drones. A bold move, bolder than Ellen ever expected of him. A minute later, Iron Man made a grand entrance, and in response the Hammer Drones went rogue and launched an assault on him and the expo. Ellen sat there, eyes glued to the television as chaos unfolded on screen.
Stark had changed things, she realized. Forever. His armour was the catalyst for an evolution in warfare and technology unmatched in human history. They lived in an ever-evolving flux of chaos and change, and HYDRA needed to control that change before it swallowed them whole.
Reclining in the chair, she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.
March, 2011; Stark Industries Headquarters…
"Ms. Potts will see you now," the assistant said from behind her desk.
"Thank you," Ellen replied. She checked her watch, impressed. Compared to the other executives she'd met with over the years, Pepper Potts had made her wait the shortest amount of time. She liked her already. Instead of her all-green suit –which she reserved for her Sarkissian alias– she'd chosen to wear a green blouse under a black blazer with black pants.
Standing up, she followed the assistant through the door into the office. Pepper Potts stood behind her desk, dressed in a grey suit with her hair tied in a bun. She exuded professionalism and tact; judging by the media headlines over the last year, she was proving to be a far more competent CEO than Tony Stark had ever been.
"That will be all, Jessica. Thank you," she told the assistant, who closed the door behind her.
Ellen shook the other woman's hand and said, "Ms. Potts, thank you for taking the time to see me."
"It's no problem, Ms. Pierce." They sat down, and she asked, "I understand you wanted to discuss the upcoming Stark Tower project."
"That's right. I know you're planning on breaking ground in New York next month, and I want to invest in the project. I think the potential for clean energy is limitless, and the work you're doing is too important. If a New York high-rise can run entirely on clean energy, then it can show the world a better, more sustainable future."
Potts nodded. "Well, we're always happy to receive contributions. God knows we've faced resistance from the oil and gas companies. Would this investment be on behalf of yourself?"
"Not quite. It would come through my firm, Echidna Capital Management."
The other woman furrowed her brow. "Where do I know that name?"
Ellen gave a small, apologetic smile. "We were actually one of Stark Industries' biggest shareholders since before I was born, but sold our stake after…"
"After the sudden announcement we were shutting down weapons manufacture," Potts finished, understanding blooming on her face. "I see. Forgive me for asking, but why would you want to re-invest in a company you considered a lost cause?"
"For one thing, the board runs day-to-day affairs," Ellen explained. "And I'm usually too busy at work to exercise my majority control of the firm."
"That's quite an accomplishment, being in charge of such a prestigious investment firm at your age."
"Thank you. My grandfather founded the company back in '53. He'd actually made his first fortune bootlegging in Prohibition." They both chuckled at the ridiculous idea. "He handed down majority control and ownership to me in his will."
"He must have loved you very much," Potts noted.
Ellen's smile turned sad, the familiar crushing weight of the past causing her bones to ache. Crossing her legs, she replied, "Actually, my mother was going to inherit the company while my grandfather was in long term care. Pancreatic Cancer. But she, uh…" Ellen coughed. Even after all these years, just the thought of her mother almost left her a mess. It didn't help that this year marked the tenth anniversary. "She was in one of the towers on 9/11."
Potts gave a sympathetic look. "God, I am so sorry. I can't imagine what you must have went through."
'No, you really can't,' she thought wryly.
The words of comfort made her pause. Ellen had spent so many years living in a world of spies and blood, witnessing the worst of humanity while deceiving almost everyone around her. Potts' sympathy seemed genuine, and the honest emotion felt so foreign. "Grampa Walter already had me named in his will. I became the only billionaire 20 year-old I knew. Ever since, I've tried to use that wealth for causes that really matter. That's why I came here to see you in person, to show just how strongly I believe in Stark Tower and everything it represents. If we don't start investing in the future, then we doom the present."
The other woman nodded. "I couldn't agree more. And on behalf of Stark Industries, I'd like to thank you for your support." They both stood and shook hands.
"Thank you for your time." Ellen made her way out of the office, smiling to the assistant on her way out. Getting the keys to her car from the valet, she buckled in and drove onto the highway. Her phone started ringing after she turned it on, so she put on her wireless earpiece and tapped it. "Pierce."
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Rumlow hissed in her ear.
"Don't see how it's any of your business," she bit back. "You're not my handler anymore; I don't have to report my whereabouts to you."
He growled on the other end of the line. "At least when I was your handler, you followed orders. You're supposed to be available and in radio contact."
She scowled, gripping the steering wheel a bit tighter. "Well, I had plans which I didn't want anyone to interrupt, so that's why I had my phone turned off. And don't forget about how this works: my dad is in charge, so that makes me second-in-command. His right hand. And you are one of the little Oompa Loompas underneath both of us. If you have a problem with that, then I can just talk to my dad about having you reassigned to drill ice cores in the Arctic for the rest of your life."
"Why you stuck-up–" Rumlow started to say.
Ellen tapped her earpiece, ending the call. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to relax as she sped along the highway. Turning on the radio, she combed through channels before finding a station in the midst of playing Enter Sandman by Metallica. She cranked up the volume, letting the music wash over her.
October, 2011; Triskelion…
Swiping her ID card, Ellen entered the Triskelion's atrium. The usual crowd of agents, analysts, and support personnel criss-crossed the high-ceilinged space. She nodded to a scattered few she recognized. At a guess, nearly a quarter of the people here were fellow HYDRA agents. It was the most exclusive club in history.
In the centre of the room stood a metal statue of a stylized eagle, representing the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo. It was supposed to be a symbol of freedom, honour, and integrity. To Ellen, it represented an organization and a nation that failed to live up to its ideals. Noble intentions being corrupted by human failings until the righteous underdog had become the imperialistic oppressor.
Making her way to the elevators, she keyed for the secure research and development floor half a dozen levels down. Most R&D sections were underground, reserved for the more dangerous or confidential projects. Only a few were in the Triskelion, the rest scattered in facilities across the country. If anything went wrong, those sections could be sealed to protect the rest of the building.
Arriving at her destination, she nodded to the agents standing guard by the doors. "Hail HYDRA," she said in a hushed tone.
"Hail HYDRA," they echoed. Since she'd arranged for the security cameras to play on a loop for this visit, they didn't need to worry about being caught.
A woman with strawberry blonde hair and dressed in a lab coat greeted her by a door marked 'Special Projects'. "Ms. Pierce," she said, nodding as Ellen approached. "It's a pleasure to see you. Please, come in." The scientist, Rebecca Oberst, scanned her ID badge. The scanner turned green, and the door slid open. Despite having Level 7 clearance, Ellen wasn't authorized to access a restricted area like this. If she tried, the system would log the attempt and Fury would know about it. The last thing she or HYDRA needed was questions.
Inside was a long hallway, flanked by a series of doors that led to the various labs. "Is this going to be an extensive inspection, Ms. Pierce?" Oberst asked, sounding nervous. "I know you've made all the proper precautions, but I'm concerned about someone asking why this area is understaffed at this hour."
"Nothing extensive," Ellen said, understanding the researcher's concern. "My father and I just wanted an update on your work, and obviously we can't use official channels for this. I thought it best if I came down here to see things for myself."
"Of course." Oberst gestured to a door on the left. "This lab is studying a man partially responsible for the battle in Harlem between the Hulk and the other, uh…'enhanced' individual. His name is Doctor Samuel Sterns, and he seems to have been affected by the Hulk's Gamma-infused blood. Some sort of cranial enlargement and extensive neural enhancement. We're looking into possible cures for degenerative diseases as well as synthetic compounds that could manipulate synaptic pathways."
Ellen nodded. "Lot of possibility there. And the rest?"
Oberst led her down the hall, gesturing to another door. When Ellen peered through the reinforced glass door, her jaw dropped. "Woah."
"Impressive, isn't it?"
She could only nod. Inside, secured against the far wall, was a large suit of silver armour with spikes along the arms and an empty helmet. It must have been eight feet tall, and definitely not made of any terrestrial materials.
"This came from Puente Antiguo, in New Mexico. All that atmospheric disturbance apparently led to visitation by an advanced race of extra-terrestrials. Their understanding of science and technology is centuries ahead of ours."
"The mission report was interesting reading," Ellen agreed. It had been just like the fantasy novels she'd read as a child.
"According to the field team, this was an autonomous weapons platform, impervious to any damage. Our team is trying to reactivate its power source which fires the main weapon, some sort of directed plasma beam. We've had limited success. Director Fury told us to create a handheld version of the weapon."
Ellen smirked. Of course he did. They examined a few other labs, with focuses ranging from the mundane to the unbelievable. Then, they came to a door marked 'Project Whiplash'. "Tell me about this," she said, stepping in for a closer look.
"This is the only piece that could be recovered from Ivan Vanko when he attacked Tony Stark last year," Oberst explained. "He'd apparently built a far more advanced suit, on par with the Iron Man armour, but it was destroyed. Despite the crudeness of the harness, it's still a brilliant design. Obviously we haven't been able to replicate the Arc Reactor necessary to power it, but we're studying it for innovative power transfer and weapons tech."
Feeling intrigued, Ellen stepped inside the lab. The harness was propped on a clear mannequin, with electrodes and probes connected to monitors which displayed bits of data. She remembered seeing Vanko use it on the news. He'd almost managed to beat Iron Man with his whips before getting caught. "How do the whips work?"
"As far as we can tell, the repulsor energy from the Arc Reactor was focused through ionized plasma channels. Effective, if a tad inefficient compared to Iron Man. Judging by your interest, I assume you want to be kept personally updated on our progress with it?"
"You assume correctly. I want you to let me know the second you have a working prototype of a copy."
Oberst jotted something into her tablet. "Consider it done. Unfortunately, anything we develop won't be able to match the power Vanko was able to achieve. Without access to Stark's Arc Reactor technology, it'll be impossible to match what he did."
Ellen nodded. "I understand. But even at a lower power level, a weapon like this will come in handy. We're living in a world of heroes and impossibilities, and something like this will come in handy." They exited the lab, and she added, "I have to say, doctor, I'm impressed. Keep up the good work, and make sure to update my father before you tell Fury anything. Hail HYDRA."
"Hail HYDRA," Oberst repeated.
Ellen walked out of the special projects area and returned to the elevators. The cameras would resume their normal operation, and the R&D sections would return to normal staffing. In the past two years, the world had seen a billionaire create a suit of powered armour, the return of gods and magic, and a scientist exposed to radiation who could level cities. She shuddered to think of what else might make the headlines. After a short ride back to the atrium, the elevator doors opened and Ellen stepped out.
She bumped into a curly-haired young man and a brunette woman, causing their papers and tablets to tumble onto the floor. "Oh, we are so sorry!" the woman exclaimed in a British accent.
"It's no trouble," Ellen said, crouching to help them gather their things.
"It's my fault, really," the man said, his thick Scottish accent reminding her about her Uncle Callum. "I was babbling on and on about an idea I had for a prototype hard light projector…"
"And I was getting all worked up about a chemical analysis on some protein compounds I'm waiting for…"
"And then I mentioned we needed to be on time for a special briefing at 14:00 hours…"
Ellen held up her hands for mercy. "Wait, wait! Honestly, it's okay."
They both breathed a sigh of relief. The woman shook her hand and said, "Apologies. We always seem to have our heads in the clouds. I'm Dr. Jemma Simmons, and this is my partner Dr. Leo Fitz."
"It's a pleasure to meet you. And don't worry, I get lost in thought all the time. Just remember to keep one eye on where you're going. I'm Ellen, by the way. Ellen–"
"Ellen Pierce!" Simmons exclaimed, eyes wide open like a child receiving their first Lego set for Christmas. Swallowing, she said, "Sorry. Shouting. Don't know why I was shouting. I have to say, Ms. Pierce, I'm a big fan of yours."
Ellen gave a bemused smile. "Really?"
"She only talks about you all the time," Fitz said. He grunted when Simmons not-so-discreetly poked him in the ribs, then amended, "Sorry, did I say all the time? I meant some…of the time."
"I've been following your exploits for some time," Simmons explained bashfully. "Youngest recruit in the S.T.R.I.K.E. unit right out of the academy, highest number of commendations for a female agent, and you singlehandedly saved President Jaleel Ziani's life during the Tunisian Revolution."
Ellen was impressed. "Well, I wouldn't say 'singlehandedly'. I couldn't have done it without my team."
"Respectfully, ma'am, you were the one who got him to safety when the mob stormed his palace. The rest of your team was separated. I think things would have turned out differently if you hadn't gotten him to the helicopter."
"That's very kind of you, and I'm truly flattered. I should get going; I don't want to hold you up any longer."
Fitz balanced the unruly stack of papers in his arms and asked, "Oh by the way, Agent Pierce, have you heard the news? At first I thought it was just rumour, but now everyone's talking about it."
Simmons glanced at him. "I almost spilled my drink when I heard it. And it's not so impossible, Fitz. Enhanced physiology like that is wonderfully stabilized, which allowed it to maintain cellular equilibrium in cryogenic suspension."
"I don't think it's really cryogenic suspension when the subject is simply frozen in ice, Jemma. It's not like he pressed a button and entered a specialized tank; water filled the cabin and froze in the arctic temperatures."
"Yes, but in cases like this we don't need to stick to such strictures, Leopold," Simmons countered in a sing-song, condescending voice. "There's been no other person in history with that kind of regenerative capability or highly tuned–"
Ellen waved a hand to snap them out of their micro-universe. "What news? What are you talking about?"
"Oh goodness, you haven't heard? I'm so sorry."
"We just assumed…"
"Could someone start giving me answers? Because I feel like we're going in circles," she said, trying to keep her frustration down. These two were sweet as kittens and passionate about their work, and didn't deserve her snapping at them.
Fitz cleared his throat. "Well, it would seem that after nearly seven decades…"
"S.H.I.E.L.D. has successfully recovered and –more importantly– revived Captain Steven Rogers!" Simmons said, giddy as a school child.
Ellen felt as if she'd been punched in the gut. After a few seconds of blank staring, she said, "Holy balls. You're not trying to prank me, right? You said others were talking about this?"
Simmons nodded vigorously, a huge grin on her face. "Yes, ma'am. Director Fury put out an official statement earlier confirming it. Captain Rogers is in perfect health and being monitored in a secure location. Only agents with Level 8 clearance or above know the location."
"Apparently," Fitz added, "they tried to acclimate him to the modern world slowly, but he broke out of the fake 1940s room he was in and ran out onto the street."
Captain America. THE Captain America. Her childhood hero, the man she'd admired and crushed on since she was ten years old. The man who'd become the world's first super soldier and helped lead the Allies to victory in World War II. The reason behind S.H.I.E.L.D.'s founding. Alive. Despite all the odds, despite the near-century of time passed, he'd survived and now lived among them. Ellen felt somewhat light-headed, her mind resisting the revelation. She'd left her phone and other devices in her locker, hence her not knowing until now.
"Uh…" she said finally, returning to the present. "Thanks for telling me. I appreciate it. I'd better get going. It was lovely to meet you both." She manoeuvred around them and started walking towards the S.T.R.I.K.E. Armoury in the operations annex.
"It was lovely meeting you, too!" Simmons called.
'Captain America,' Ellen thought, recalling all those nights in her room staring at the poster she'd kept all these years. How often did one's childhood hero come to life like this?
"Agent Pierce!"
She stopped, turning to look at whoever called her. A dark-skinned couple stood near the eagle statue, waving their hands. Husband and wife, given the wedding bands on their fingers. He had a bushy, silver beard and kind eyes, while she had a warm smile and large hoop earrings. Ellen walked over to them and asked, "Can I help you?"
"We don't want to be a bother," the husband said. "We were just in town, and thought we'd come by to see you."
"What's this about?"
The wife gave a sad smile. "It's been over three years, but it feels like it happened yesterday. We missed you at the funeral, but you were probably too busy to attend. Lord knows our baby had no time for herself, given the kind of work you did together."
Ellen frowned. This conversation felt nothing but bizarre. Who were these people? "I think you might have me mistaken for someone else. You're talking about…?"
The husband looked at his wife, then said, "Emilia. Emilia Carmichael. She was a member of your team."
"She spoke very highly of you," the wife added. "I know the two of you were close."
"I'm sorry for your loss," Ellen said cautiously, "but I have absolutely no idea who you're talking about. No one named Carmichael has ever been in my unit."
The two of them recoiled, faces marked by looks of astonishment. "But you served together for two years!" the husband said, his tone full of confusion and shock. "You joined us for Sunday dinner five times."
Ellen blinked, a mixture of pity and frustration swirling in her mind. These people clearly mistook her, probably a result of grief. "Again, I'm very sorry for your loss, but I've never met an agent named Emilia. If you go to the front desk, I'm sure you can find whoever you're looking for."
"But…" the wife started to say.
But she turned and walked away, brow furrowed. Such a strange encounter. Ellen winced as she entered the S.T.R.I.K.E. Armoury, a headache blooming.
Jeremiah and Cecilia Carmichael walked towards the front doors hand-in-hand, trying to contain their disappointment and bewilderment.
"Mr. and Mrs. Carmichael?"
They turned to look at the man who approached them. "Agent Rumlow," Jeremiah greeted. "It's good to see you."
"Likewise."
Cecilia put a hand on the other man's arm and asked, "Is Agent Pierce alright? She acted like she didn't even know us just now."
Rumlow nodded somberly, glancing in the direction Pierce had walked. "She's been under a lot of stress, lately. Hazard of the job. I actually wanted to speak to you about your daughter. Some new details have come to light."
"Details?" Jeremiah asked.
"Yes. I'm busy at the moment, but I was wondering if I could speak to you about it tonight at your home?"
The couple squeezed each other's hand a bit tighter. "Certainly," Cecilia replied. "Of course, come by any time."
Rumlow smiled. "I'll drop by as soon as I'm available."
Later that night, Baltimore P.D. responded to gunshots from the Carmichael residence. Neighbors reported hearing sounds of a fight beforehand. Inside, the responding officers found the body of Cecilia Carmichael on the floor. Jeremiah's body sat in his favourite chair, gun still in hand, with a note on the table beside him. Investigators labeled it a murder-suicide.
November, 2011…
Tony collected the dishes and took them over to the sink. "That was excellent, Ma," he said, loading them into the dishwasher. A few years back, he'd bought his mother a new apartment in Manhattan. It faced Central Park, giving her a good view as well as being close enough for her daily walks.
"Nothing beats home cooking," she said, finishing her glass of red wine. After a moment, she asked, "Have you talked to Maria lately?"
He paused, the reminder shattering his train of thought. The divorce had been finalized last year, leaving a fresh wound that probably wouldn't heal for a long time. "Uh, once or twice," he answered, washing his hands. "I saw her last week when I dropped off Samantha at her place."
"I wish you two could've worked things out," his mother said. Tony rolled his eyes; this was only the 100th time she'd brought it up since his marriage fell apart. "Maria was a lovely girl. It's such a shame when couples can't work through their differences. Your father and I–"
"Hey, that's different," Tony interjected. "That spineless sack of shit walked out on us."
"Watch your language!"
"Sorry." He sat down beside her on the couch, sighing. "Maria and I…our lives went in different directions, that's all. And no matter what, you'll still get to see your granddaughter."
She gave him a dubious look, then relented. "Okay." Checking the clock, she added, "It's getting pretty late; I think I'll turn in."
"That's a good idea. Is it okay if I stick around for a bit and get some work done?"
Getting to her feet, she kissed him on the forehead and patted his shoulder. "Stay as long as you like, baby. Love you."
"Love you," he replied. Waiting until she closed her bedroom door, he opened his laptop and checked his online caches and hidden email accounts. With the divorce came a joint-custody agreement of Samantha, where she spent one week with him and one with Maria. His bitterness at the divorce itself was outweighed by his guilt. He hated how it disrupted his little girl's life, and could never think of a proper answer whenever she asked why her parents split up.
As a result, he'd stopped taking long-term gigs training people in combat and firearm usage. With his daughter to look after, he only had twenty six weeks of the year available for mercenary work.
Scrolling through the list of offers, he came across one that piqued his interest. No name, just a promise of an obscene amount of dollars and a few sentences of the job description. It reminded Tony of the message that HYDRA used to hire him to train Ellen Pierce in that abandoned mining town. That had been almost a decade ago. In the time since that job, he'd taken the odd contract for them, training their operatives. This message, however, didn't feel like them. A super-secretive spy element, but it could've been one of dozens of organizations around the globe.
He typed back a response, saying he'd take the job.
Cyberweapons lab, Guangzhou, China…
"North side entrance is sealed up tight," Tony said as he surveyed the building. The lenses of his mask provided a Heads Up Display which could scan the environment, zoom, identify threats, and analyze just about any substance. He zoomed out, looking towards the rear entrance reserved for employees. No guards, just a single security camera and a voice recognition lock. "That oughta do it. What do ya think?"
He looked down at his 'silent partner'. The lab employee –a researcher, if Tony read the man's ID badge correctly– struggled, hogtied by a thick cord with duct tape over his mouth. The thin man grunted and wiggled his hands and feet, to no avail.
Tony ripped the duct tape off, and the researcher started screaming and calling for help. "How about we stick to inside voices?" he asked nicely, pressing the barrel of his pistol to the man's temple. The screaming stopped. The rooftop they occupied was empty, but Tony didn't want to take too long and risk discovery. "Now, how about you tell me where the high-value projects are located?" His grasp of Mandarin had been piss-poor most of his life. On the plane ride to China, he'd listened to a few instructional tapes. He wouldn't call himself fluent after a day of practice. Conversational was a better descriptor.
The researcher, shaking and terrified, started talking a mile a minute, alternating between begging for his life and throwing insults. Tony didn't catch some of the words, but he got the gist. Besides, he didn't care about what the man said, only how he said it. A minute of verbal diarrhea later, he got everything he needed.
"Thanks, buddy. Couldn't have done it without you." Tony stuck the duct tape back over the man's mouth, much to the latter's chagrin. "I've got work to do, so I'll just let you rest here." He stood, and the researcher cried out in alarm. "Eh, don't worry. I'm sure someone will find you eventually."
Taking a small grappler out of his belt, Tony fired it into the wall of the building he stood on. Then, he hopped over the edge of the roof and rappelled all the way down to the street.
As the sun set on the horizon and evening dusk blanketed the city, Tony weaved between the cars in the parking lot. Taking cover behind a white van, he fixed a suppressor to his pistol. Waiting for the security camera to pan away from him, he leaned to the side and destroyed it with one shot. Now all that remained was the voice scanner.
Over the last few years, Tony had been experimenting with his photographic reflexes. He wanted to find out what his unique skills couldn't do. The first time was accidental. He'd bumped the tv remote, playing the Bruce Lee movie on fastforward. The next time he'd fought someone, he took them down so fast he didn't even realize it, far faster than any normal human reflex. The second time, he'd scrolled through channels until stopping to watch an Iron Chef marathon. When Samantha came to stay with him for that week, he cooked gourmet meals for her as if he'd been doing it for decades. The third time he'd discovered something new when he read to her at night, doing voices for books like The Hobbit and Inkheart.
With the area clear of other people, he pulled his skull mask off. He cleared his throat, massaging it for good measure. 'Here we go,' he thought to himself. 'Hope this works. If not, I'll have to use the C4 early.' Taking a deep breath, he tensed his throat muscles and spoke. "Liang Huang," he said in Mandarin, mimicking the hogtied researcher's voice. For a brief, terrible second, nothing happened. Tony half-expected the alarm to start blaring and security to swarm his position.
But then, the scanner beeped and the door slid open. He'd done it; he actually managed to replicate another man's voice so accurately he fooled a computer.
"Now that is cool," Tony whispered, putting his mask back on.
He stepped inside, entering a short hallway that led to a series of elevators. To his left was a security guard reading a magazine, just settled into the start of a long and boring night shift. "Hey Liang, I thought you went home for the–" the guard started to say. He froze upon seeing Tony, gasping at the sight of an armoured figure with a skull mask. A punch to the face knocked him out before he could do anything else.
Entering one of the elevators, Tony keyed for the 20th floor. All the most important data was kept there, including next-gen adaptive encryption algorithms and first stage AI with targetable cyber intrusion capability. The kind of stuff that would give the People's Republic a massive edge in the modern era where cyberwarfare had become preeminent. His client must have been worried about that exact eventuality, hence his presence.
The elevator doors opened, revealing an orange and white hallway. Between the colours and the lighting, Tony felt like he'd entered a Sci-Fi novel. He stepped out, drawing his suppressed pistol and shooting out any cameras he found. It wouldn't be long before security noticed their feeds going down, so he moved at a brisk pace towards the main lab.
Turning a corner, he found a janitor mopping the floor, whistling a tune. Running towards him, Tony leaped and dropkicked him in the back of the head. The janitor collapsed, knocking over his bucket and spilling dirty water all over the floor.
"Sorry, chum," he told the unconscious man. "You're gonna have one mother of a headache when you wake up." There was no need to kill him; after all, the guy just wanted to make a living. Tony often felt sorry for the guards and workers in places like this, and thus refrained from killing them. Moving on, he came to an intersection which featured a desk manned by two security guards. He walked towards them at a casual pace. The client had provided a blueprint of the building, so he knew he was close to his target.
The guards flinched upon seeing him, rushing to their feet. One pulled his gun, while another reached for his radio. Tony shot the first in the shoulder and the second in the gut, careful to avoid any vital organs or arteries. Looking to his right, he saw that particular hallway led to a dead end. That wall formed part of the building's east side, facing the parking lot. Reaching into his backpack, he took out two of the C4 charges he'd brought and stuck them to either side of the wall. Thankfully there were plants that hid them from view.
Reaching the main lab, he pulled his mask up and spoke into the voice scanner. "Liang Huang." Another beep, and another door opened. The possibilities of mimicking voices were numerous, and he'd explore them later.
Relaxing his muscles, he entered the lab. The reinforced glass floor contained pressure sensors that recognized each person based on their individual gait. If the sensors detected anyone not authorized, then the room would seal itself and all oxygen would be vented. Tony's mask could protect him from toxins and smoke, but he still needed to breathe. Before snatching Huang from the parking lot, he'd watched the man move as he walked to his car. Tony had memorized the man's posture and physicality, and now altered his movement to match it exactly.
His steps were slow and precise, his heart racing and breathing even. When the alarms didn't trigger after the first ten seconds, Tony knew his latest trick would work.
Moving to the massive rows of servers, he planted the rest of his C4 charges. He then sat down at the computer terminal and plugged in the thumb drive. Over the years, he'd interacted with several people who specialized in computer hacking and other related tech skills. Some had been fellow employees of crime lords or corporations, and a few were even S.H.I.E.L.D. agents who owed him favours. He'd made sure to collect a trove of drives and intrusion programs that could be used for the variety of work he did. One such program broke into the terminal and gave him full access. It took a few minutes to locate the relevant programs his client wanted. Then, he copied the master files and source codes into the thumb drive before deleting the originals. Unplugging the drive, he stuffed it into a belt pouch and turned to leave.
At the lab entrance, a figure dropped to the hallway floor from a cord hanging from the ceiling, crouching low. They both froze upon seeing each other. The figure was dressed in a navy blue robe with orange trim, their face concealed by a white mask with black and red highlights and black hair tied in a high ponytail.
Tony cocked his head to the side and asked, "Who the hell are you supposed to be?" Something moved in the corner of his eye, and he looked up to see half a dozen black-clad figures rappelling down from the ceiling. Behind his mask, he gave a wide smile, giddy with anticipation. "Oh HELL yes!" he said. "Now I get to cross 'fighting Ninjas' off my bucket list."
Interestingly, the Ninjas all had a silver symbol on their outfits, ten circles around a pair of crossed swords. So, this bunch must have been a cell of the Ten Rings. The man in the white mask drew a Bo-shuriken, spun on his heel, and threw it at Tony's neck.
He caught the steel spike inches from his throat. "This just became the best job ever," he said. Glancing at the others coming from above, he threw it into the nearest Ninja's eye, killing him, and ran for the door. The body fell, crashing onto the lab floor. The moment it did, the calm white colour became an angry scarlet as the alarm started wailing. Tony saw the doors closing even as the masked man aimed a roundhouse kick at his head. Ducking down, he slid through the door seconds before it sealed while avoiding the kick.
Taking out the detonator from his belt, he triggered it. The C4 charges all exploded at once, consuming the five men behind him in fire and shrapnel from the servers. The whole building seemed to shake from the concussive force, knocking the masked man down.
Tony got to his feet. At that same moment, the masked man flipped upright as several more members of the Ten Rings appeared. The former drew twin Kunai and entered a fighting pose, while the latter bunch drew either twin hook swords or other assorted blades.
"I love Ninjas," Tony whispered.
He charged, and the hallway erupted into an all-out melee. The masked man went low, striking with both feet. Tony leaped over him and kicked a Ninja in the face. Another slashed at him with twin hook swords. He dodged this way and that, putting his reflexes to the test as he avoided the attacks. These men all had excellent training, and would be nigh-unstoppable against most men.
But he wasn't most men. He was Taskmaster, the greatest mercenary and fighter in the world.
Leaning to avoid a slash, he grabbed his opponent by the arm, spun on his heel, and smashed an armoured elbow into the side of his head with an audible crack. The Ninja fell back, with two more leaping into the air and swinging their hook swords in an overhead chop. Tony held up his gauntlets. The blades scraped against them with a shiver-inducing screech, but the plating held. Drawing the combat knife sheathed on his thigh, he blocked and dodged until he used it in a reverse grip to slash one Ninja's throat.
The masked man appeared, leaping towards him with a full twist side kick. At the same instant, one of the Ninjas slid past Tony, grabbing his ankle with a hook sword and yanking it back. His footing off-set, he couldn't react in time as the kick struck him in the chest and knocked him onto the floor.
He groaned, looking up just in time to see a pair of hook swords slashing down at him. Rolling out of the way, he then rolled back, using his weight to pry the swords from their owner's grip. Spinning in place, Tony grabbed the Ninja by the throat with both legs and flipped him into another one. Quickly drawing his pistol, he shot the two men in the head. Before he could shoot at the others, one of the Ninjas threw a Bo-shuriken into his pistol, knocking it out of his hand. Placing his hands over his head, he kipped up to a standing position. The masked man lunged at him, and they furiously exchanged blows as the other Ninjas tried to flank him.
More figures emerged at the far end of the hall. At a glance, he saw they were security guards. The men drew their guns and started shooting, forcing some of the Ninjas to turn and deal with them.
Tony backhanded the masked man, who spun, threw a –blinking?– knife into the wall beside the guards, then performed a spinning roundhouse kick that knocked him back. The blinking knife exploded a moment later, shaking the hallway and killing most of the guards. The masked man pressed his attack, kicking and slashing with his Kunai. Tony, having seen more than enough of his opponent's fighting style by now, predicted the next move. When the other man transitioned from a low kick to a knife slash, he caught him by the arms. He saw the masked man's eyes widen in shock.
Tony head-butted him, cracking the white mask, then wrenched one of the Kunai free before using it to slash him across the stomach. Ducking under a retaliatory throat slash, he grabbed his opponent by the throat, kicked a foot from under him, and grappled him to the floor. Using his momentum to roll down the adjacent hall, Tony got to his feet and ran back the way he'd come.
He heard the Ninjas chasing after him, but didn't bother looking back. All that mattered was getting out of there with the data. Given time, he could beat this bunch, but by then the building would be swarming with police and military troops. That kind of trouble he'd prefer not to deal with.
Reaching the guard desk at the intersection, he turned around just as the masked man threw one of those blinking, explosive knives at him. Remembering the climax from one of his favourite movies, Tony caught the knife then threw it right back at its owner. All in the reflexes. The masked man slid under the knife at the last second, and it pierced one of the remaining Ninjas in the chest. The resulting explosion killed many of the Ten Rings.
Taking out his second detonator, Tony triggered it. The two charges he'd placed on the wall detonated, blowing it out and creating an opening that led outside.
The masked man leaped at him. He responded by replicating his opponent's earlier full twist side kick at the perfect moment, kicking him in the face and knocking him to the floor. Tony then ran for the hole, fired his grappler into the floor, and leaped out. Holding on for dear life, he felt the cable go taut as he swung parallel to the building. Reaching the parking lot, he hit the ground running and retracted the grappler.
Reaching an alley across the street, he climbed into the SUV he'd stashed earlier and drove off. Once he felt certain the Ten Rings weren't pursuing him, and the adrenaline started to wear off, he breathed a sigh of relief. Then, he started laughing, pounding the steering wheel in his excitement. "Goddamned Ninjas! It's just like I dreamed it!"
Once back in the US, as instructed by his client, Tony took the data to a scrapyard just outside Portland, Oregon. "1957 Chevy Nomad, missing driver's side door…" he said to himself, searching the relevant part of the yard. There, at the bottom of a stack of classic cars long past their prime. Taking out the thumb drive, he taped it under the driver's seat, then sent a message to the client. Deliver and walk away, that was the contract. His payment would come by the end of the day, once the client took delivery.
Hours later, Maria Hill entered the scrapyard. Reaching under the driver's seat of the Nomad, she retrieved the thumb drive and walked away.
Triskelion…
"Any complications?" Fury asked, leaning back in his office chair.
"None," Hill replied. The desk screen displayed her face in the corner, her call having been routed through the speakers. "I did a quick check of the data; it's all here, no surprises."
"Good work. I want you to bring it straight back. Cyber Division's been advised, and they'll make good use of it."
"On my way now. Sir, if I may ask, how did you manage to locate this? Last I checked, relations with China were touchy as it was. That's why we didn't send a team in to retrieve their cyberwarfare projects."
Fury sighed, staring out his window. "The less you know, Agent Hill. All we need concern ourselves with is putting that data to good use."
"Understood," she replied without a hint of bitterness. Her professionalism and ability to handle sensitive operations like this were some of the reasons why he chose her to be his second. "ETA to Triskelion: twenty two hours. Going dark until then."
"Copy that. Fury out." He tapped his screen, ending the call. Sending Taskmaster in to retrieve the data from Guangzhou had been the right call, after all. Given the chatter he'd picked up about other interested parties wanting to steal it for themselves, it became a time-sensitive issue. This way, the data was kept from the hands of terrorists and the Chinese, all without implicating S.H.I.E.L.D.
Nothing was off-limits, he believed, when it came to ensuring the world's security.
I started writing the Taskmaster segment of this chapter two days after I saw Shang-Chi in the theatre. The opportunity arose, and I took it! Death Dealer was such an awesome character in the movie with one of the greatest fight scenes in the MCU, so having him fight Taskmaster was a real treat.