Thessaloniki, Greece…
Ellen entered the back room of the antique shop, stepping over to where Rumlow stood. The owner had a reputation for facilitating meetings of 'less reputable' individuals in this part of the world. A discreet payment had booked his shop for a few days. Across the low-ceilinged room stood ten individuals, and despite some of their eclectic styles, each of them looked capable.
"These the recruits?"
Rumlow nodded, leaning against the brick wall. "The ones who responded to our feelers."
She arched an eyebrow. "Our?"
He rolled his eyes. "Sorry. Your feelers." He held out a stack of file folders, which she took. "All of 'em are some kind of ex-military. Here's what I dug up on them."
Ellen perused the stack, matching each of the men and women to their pictures. The first one to catch her eye was the short, muscular woman examining the tassels of an old carpet at the top of a stack. She had silver-dyed hair in a fashionable bob cut, and wore a silver coat that likely hid a number of weapons inside. "Silvija Sablinova," Ellen read to herself. "Wow, apparently she's Symkarian nobility."
"Whoop-de-friggin'-do."
She frowned at Rumlow, then read on. "Expert marksman, trained in martial arts since the age of ten. She'll definitely come in handy." Ellen looked through the stack, stopping at the file of a hulking Mongolian with impeccably groomed facial hair. "Baasan Odchigin. Spent fifteen years in a North Korean prison camp for murder before he escaped. Trained wrestler, explosives expert. Very nice."
The rest of the group she would describe as 'average' in the world of killers and mercenaries. Though still useful. Then, she opened the last file. The man in question sat cross-legged by himself, cards laid out in a game of solitaire. Handsome and muscular, with a mustache and beard as well as stylish dreadlocks swept to one side. Ellen could tell right away he had keen eyes that spoke of an impressive intelligence behind his somewhat thuggish exterior.
"Erik Stevens, born and raised in Oakland. Graduated Annapolis at 19. Damn! MIT for grad school, then he became a Navy SEAL."
"I've actually heard of this guy," Rumlow said. "Has the most confirmed kills of anyone in the service. They started calling him 'Killmonger'. After the SEALS, he joined a JSOC ghost unit."
Ellen's eyebrows rose. "Those units are serious. Real boogeyman stuff."
"Hm. One day he just dropped off the map. Guess he decided to go freelance."
"Well," she said, handing him the files, "America's loss is our gain." She stepped forward, clearing her throat for attention. The ten mercenaries stopped to look at her. "Welcome," Ellen greeted. "Thank you all for coming. My name is Ellen Pierce. The burn victim behind me is Brock Rumlow. And in case you're wondering, he's even uglier on the inside."
He growled, but she ignored him.
"I'm sure some of you have heard about me in the news."
"You belong to HYDRA," Sablinova stated with a thick Symkarian accent.
Ellen nodded. "That is correct. Recently, however, my relationship with the rest of the organization has become somewhat…strained. My only recourse is to seek outside help." She gestured to all of them. "Make no mistake: I am loyal to HYDRA, and as long as I live I will continue its mission to create a better world. If any of you are uncomfortable with that, you're welcome to leave. I won't stop you."
A few of them looked at the door.
"Or you can stay and work for me. My mentor taught me that a deal struck is a deal struck. You honour your word. If you accept my money, then you accept my leadership. Betray me in any way, think about turning me in to the authorities for a reward or shooting me in the back, and you will die before the end of that thought. I've killed many people, and I'll kill many more before this is done. I will respect you, so long as you respect me. Do we understand each other?"
The mercenaries were silent, sharing thoughtful looks as they pondered her words. Stevens, or 'Killmonger', nodded to her and asked, "How much we talkin'?"
"I can give each of you $40,000 American right now, with the promise of more as the operation expands."
Clearing his throat, Baasan asked, "And by 'expand', you mean…?"
"As I said," Ellen replied, "I am still loyal to HYDRA. We have endured for decades because we operate in self-contained cells. If one gest taken out, the others aren't affected. This, you, will serve as the core of my new cell. As we acquire more resources, I will hire other mercenaries, pirates, and personnel on an as-needed basis. The key is efficiency. Instead of being weighed down by bases and armies of soldiers, we will be a mobile strike force. We stay two steps ahead of the authorities, always keeping them guessing."
Baasan nodded. "And what about the Avengers?"
The others all murmured in agreement.
Ellen flashed back to Steve, remembering his smile and the excitement of his touch as they danced. "Right now, we are below their radar. They're focused on larger, global threats. And the other HYDRA cells provide tempting targets. My associate and I have some experience in fighting them, but in the meantime we'll keep an eye out for any enhanced individuals that can join us. It's a brave new world we live in. So, now that you've heard my offer, what's your decision?"
After a moment of silence, one of the mercenaries nodded. Then another, and another.
"I'm in," Killmonger said, gathering his cards. "Sounds fun."
"As am I," Sablinova added.
Baasan stroked the pointed tip of his beard. "I accept your offer."
Ellen smirked. "Good. Let's get to work."
December 25th, 2014; Cairo…
Baasan held the door open, and Ellen stepped through. She wore a black trench coat over her catsuit, ready to draw one of a dozen weapons in case this meeting didn't go well. The portside warehouse was quiet, dimly lit by flickering overhead lights. Several vehicles were parked on either side, most stripped down as mechanics modified them.
Rumlow, Baasan, Killmonger, and two others walked just behind her as she approached one of her old contacts. Omar had provided a great deal of equipment to HYDRA over the years, often giving them first grab at the latest black market tech. Since the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D., his reputation and resources had only increased. He stood in front of two large semi trucks with five of his own men, wearing gold rings and other pieces of jewelry.
"The famous Madame Hydra. So good to see you again," he offered with a grin.
"Omar. It's been a while."
"I must say, I prefer this face to your other one." He gestured to the hair covering the right side of her face. "You shouldn't cover up such beauty, you know."
Ellen tried to keep her composure. "You got something for me?"
Omar's grin lessened. "Ah yes, I remember. Always straight to business with you. Always so serious. Come, come." He and his men moved around to the back of the trailers attached to the semi trucks. Ellen and the others followed. Omar snapped his fingers, and his men opened the trailer doors. She peered inside as he spoke. "Everything has been built according to your specifications. Both trailers are fully converted, complete with soundproofing and anti-surveillance tech. Not even Tony Stark could peer inside."
"Not bad," Ellen said, nodding. "Sleeping arrangements?"
"Both trucks have sleeper cabs," Omar explained. He gestured to the one on the right. "This one has a private bedroom at the front of the trailer. I presume that will be yours?"
"You presume correctly."
"As for the rest, there are bunks that fold into the right wall of both trailers, seven in total. I also installed computer stations with the latest encryption, as well as lockers for any weapons or equipment you might need."
"Very impressive," she admitted. "But I'll need to inspect them myself."
Omar gave her another grin. "Naturally, I assumed. I think you will find these are more than satisfactory."
Ellen looked at Rumlow and jerked her chin at the left trailer. He nodded and climbed inside, while she checked the right trailer. It was solid work. The normal exterior hid a well-furnished and equipped interior, surprisingly spacious given the limited dimensions. The modular design helped in that regard, since everything could be folded into the walls or floor. She didn't find any hidden trackers or booby traps, nor were their any deficiencies she could find.
She hopped down just before Rumlow, who said, "Looks good." Ellen nodded, then walked past him and entered the second trailer. "I just said it was good," he repeated irritably, looking at her with genuine surprise. As if he never expected her to so blatantly ignore him.
"Yes you did," she replied, beginning her own inspection.
Rumlow growled, walking away in a huff.
Once finished, Ellen exited. She hadn't found anything either, but she knew Rumlow too well not to double-check anything he checked. Even with him on a leash, he was too dangerous for her to let her guard down. Turning to Omar, she said, "Impressive work, as always."
"I live for my customers' satisfaction," he replied, a hand on his chest. "Now, as to the matter of payment?"
She nodded to Killmonger, who handed over a duffle bag full of bills. As Omar counted, Rumlow stepped to her side and whispered, "That's almost all of our cash gone."
"Don't worry. We'll rectify that soon."
Zipping up the duffle bag, Omar tossed it to one of his men. "As always, Madame, a pleasure." He bowed and added, "Allah ma'ak." ["God be with you."]
Ellen inclined her head. "Ma'a salama." ["May you go with peace."]
She accepted both sets of keys, tossing one to Baasan. Rumlow and Killmonger followed her into the right truck, while the others joined Baasan in the left truck.
As they drove out of the warehouse, Ellen dialed a number on her latest burner phone. "We're coming out. Any problems?"
"None," Sablinova replied. "We had eyes on the area the whole time. No unexpected guests or cause for concern. Guess your contact honoured his word."
"Looks that way. We'll swing by to pick you up."
From the passenger seat, she looked out the window. In the cold Egyptian night, her thoughts drifted back to Steve. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't forget about him. His blue eyes, his smile, his hands around her as they danced. So much had happened to tear them apart. If he thought about her at all, he probably hated her for deceiving him so long. Deep down, Ellen hated herself for lying to him. She wanted to see him again, to explain, to make things right. But nothing she said or did could repair the damage.
Then, she thought of the Triskelion battle. Fighting him, losing, getting her face smashed into glass. She remembered the sensation of her arm breaking in his grip. She remembered fleeing the Helicarrier, finding Fury and Romanoff over her father's corpse. Ellen then noticed her reflection in the window, her eyes focusing on the hair covering her scars.
Unwilling to look at herself, she closed her eyes and clenched both hands into tight fists. Zola's voice laughed in the depths of her mind.
Avengers Tower…
"Okay, how did you know?" Bruce asked as he opened the glittering red and white box. It contained an egg-shaped piece of polished amber, with what looked like a mosquito inside. He held it up, examining it in the light.
'Let it Snow' by Frank Sinatra played through the speakers as the Avengers and their closest friends gathered around the large tree in the centre of the common room. All the railings had been decorated with tinsel, the lights pulsing between red and green. Everyone sat on couches and chairs, most wearing Santa hats. Thor elected to stand beside his date, Jane Foster, wearing a green cape that Stark had got him.
"Nice!" Rhodes said, mug of eggnog in hand. "Almost looks real."
Bruce nodded. "The quality is incredible. But seriously, how did you know? Did you get J.A.R.V.I.S., to look at my search history?"
"I have done nothing of the sort, Dr. Banner," the AI replied.
"Well, it doesn't take that much deduction," Natasha replied casually. "Jurassic Park is your favourite book, after all."
Bruce smiled. "Still, that's…that's impressive. Thank you."
"You're welcome. That's what friends are for."
"Speaking of," he said, looking around. "Where's Clint and Hill? I thought they would've joined us by now."
Steve said, "Hill took the rest of the week off. Said she wanted personal time. And Barton is…?" He looked at Natasha, raising an eyebrow. She knew the archer better than any of them.
"Same thing," she said, taking another sip of beer. He sensed she knew something, but didn't press the issue. The Avengers were free to spend the holidays however they wanted. Since the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D., they'd taken it upon themselves to fill the gap in global security. With how stressful of a year they'd had, each of them deserved proper R&R.
Stark, one arm around Pepper's stomach as she sat in his lap, called out, "Okay, whose turn is it?"
"Mine," Steve replied. He picked up the stack of gifts beside his chair and started distributing them. "It's not much," he explained as everyone opened them. "Just a little sign of appreciation for all of you, and everything you do."
"Woah," Bruce said as he got a look at his.
"Incredible," Pepper said, admiring Tony's.
Steve had spent the last month creating intricate sketches for each of his teammates, during the few bits of downtime they had between missions. He didn't consider them fancy, just renderings of each Avenger as an animal. Stark as a Tiger draped over an Iron Man helmet, Bruce as an Orangutan in a lab coat holding beakers of green liquid, Thor as an Eagle swooping down through the Bifrost with Mjolnir in his talons, Natasha as a Fox using its tail to hang from a ceiling as it snatched papers from an office, and Clint as a Mountain Lion perched on a cliff overlooking a nighttime city.
Jane marveled at Thor's sketch. "This is beautiful!"
"Indeed," Thor agreed. "Worthy of the finest artisans of Asgard, my friend. You truly possess a gift."
Stark stared at his, blinking in shock. "Wow, Rogers. You're doing a great job of making my expensive, one-of-a-kind gifts look insincere." Pepper frowned, smacking his arm playfully. "Seriously, though, this is great. Thanks."
"Thanks, Steve," Bruce echoed.
Steve smiled, then said, "I'll give Clint his the next time I see him."
"I can do that," Natasha offered, taking her friend's gift.
"Here's to a Merry Christmas," Rhodes called, raising his mug.
"Hear, hear!" everyone said in unison, raising their drinks and smiling.
Thor, after downing his glass of beer, cried, "Another!" before smashing it on the floor.
During the resulting chaos, between Jane repeatedly apologizing as Pepper and Stark cleaned up the glass while Natasha and Rhodes laughed, Steve slipped away from the group. He sipped his glass of hot chocolate, strolling over to the large, wall-spanning window that offered a fantastic view of the recently redesigned landing pad and the bright New York morning. As he stood there, staring out at the city he called home, his thoughts drifted.
He remembered the Christmases he and Bucky shared, so many years ago, when it was just the two of them against the world. They'd witnessed the erection of the original tree at Rockefeller Center in 1931. That 20 foot fir tree, adorned with strings of cranberries, paper, and tin cans had been the most majestic thing he'd ever seen. Steve sighed, remembering the last time he'd seen his best friend. Bucky had dropped off the grid since the Triskelion battle, leaving no traces. He missed him, especially during the holidays.
He also thought of Ellen. The image of the hospital security footage, of her busting Rumlow out, stuck in his mind. Even now, after seeing everything he had, he couldn't reconcile the kind, considerate, dedicated woman he'd come to know with the ruthless HYDRA assassin. Just like Bucky, she'd left no traces after leaving the hospital. Natasha had heard rumblings in the intelligence community about the CIA sending a team after Ellen in Honduras, but nothing concrete had come of it.
Steve knew in his heart she could be saved. She'd only joined HYDRA because of her father. Her speech to him at the Helicarrier, about the world being broken by evils such as persecution, starvation, and corporate greed, had seemed genuine. He knew she truly believed every word she'd said, despite the fact HYDRA was the cause of most of those problems. It was a sign her heart was, ultimately, in the right place. Just buried under years of lies and manipulations.
He pictured her face in the glass in front of him, smiling. His chest ached at her absence, and he swore he'd save her from herself.
January 28th, 2015; Huambo, Angola…
"Breaking news: several explosions have been reported in the Manhattan neighborhood of Hell's Kitchen this evening. Details are still coming in, but it appears the explosions occurred at suspected locations of a Russian crime syndicate known for drug smuggling and human trafficking. Police are surrounding a suspect in the bombings who has taken shelter in an abandoned structure. We will keep you apprised as this situation develops."
Ellen leaned back in her seat, letting the words sink in. Bombings in New York? She wondered who would have the motive –let alone the resources– to undertake such an action.
"That's crazy," Killmonger noted as they sat in the cab of one of their trucks.
"Well, we do live in a world of crazy."
"True enough."
Grabbing the binoculars from the dash, she looked at the warehouse in the distance. Men in dark clothing holding assault rifles stood guard around the building as workers loaded large crates into cargo vans. "Looks like they're almost done loading the guns," she said, counting the crates they'd seen thus far. A figure stepped out into the open, wearing a dark green jacket, cargo pants, and a black beret. All the others bowed and treated him with reverence. "And there's the head man himself."
"I've heard a lot of boogeyman stories about this guy," Killmonger said. "Word is, no dictator even thinks about touching him. A lot of tribes call him 'Spawn of the Devil'."
Ellen nodded. "Matches what I heard. The locals call him 'Mercador da Morte'."
"Merchant of Death, right?"
"Yeah. All in all, he sounds like a saint. Apparently he supplied arms to Jonas Savimbi as well as the MPLA during the civil war back in the '80s. Nice way to make a profit, selling to both sides."
It reminded her of Obadiah Stane and the deal with Stark Industries falling through. That mess had soured her already low opinion of arms dealers. For the next few minutes, she watched the target vans get loaded, snacking on a half-empty bag of chips. Finally, the workers all headed back inside the warehouse, and the vans drove out of the yard escorted by jeeps full of armed guards.
Setting down the binoculars, she grabbed the radio and spoke into it. "Targets on the move. We are go." To Killmonger, she said, "Let's get moving."
They drove onto the street, following the convoy at a distance as it merged onto the highway. Rumlow's team in the other truck reported ready, so everything was in place. There were scarcely any other vehicles at this hour, which made the whole thing easier.
Once they were outside city limits, Ellen nodded to Killmonger. He turned into the opposing lane, then sped up. They drove past the convoy, and she could see some of the men looking at the truck in confusion.
They were nearly at the ambush spot. "We're almost there," she spoke into the radio. "Move in 5…4…3…2…now!"
The second truck came roaring out from a side road just as the convoy passed. It smashed into the rearmost jeep, knocking it off the highway. Ellen saw it roll over on the grass from the driver's side mirror. Killmonger swung right. They struck the two jeeps at the head of the convoy, forcing them both off the road. They slammed into separate trees, crumpling like milk jugs. After a few more seconds of driving, Killmonger applied the brakes while Rumlow sped up the second truck. The lead van crashed into the trailer, while the other two crashed into each other, all three pressed together between the trucks.
"Team 1, go," Ellen ordered. She heard their trailer door slide open, then heard the spray of gunfire. Sablinova and two others would hop down onto the first van, shoot the driver and take it over, then climb over and do the same for the other two. An admittedly delicate series of manoeuvres with a wide margin of error. But if executed properly, they'd drive off into the sunset with the entire payload.
"First van clear," Sablinova reported.
So far so good.
She heard more gunshots. "Second van clear," Grissom, one of her men reported.
Only one to…
"What the hell?"
Ellen frowned. "Talk to me, Grissom. What is it?"
"The passenger in the second van, he's still ali–" The mercenary's words were cut off, replaced by a tortured, wet gurgle. More gunshots sounded.
"Rumlow, you have eyes?"
"Grissom's dead," he replied, not sounding particularly bothered. "So's Williams. One of the assholes in the second van took 'em down. Must be wearing a bulletproof vest or something. Ah! Son of a bitch!"
Through the mirror, Ellen saw bullet holes appear in the other truck's windshield as Rumlow ducked. He must have taken his foot off the gas pedal in the distraction, as his truck slowed and broke contact with the rear van. It promptly moved, veering into the opposing lane and racing away. "Don't let it leave," she said.
Killmonger grit his teeth, swerving to the left. They struck an oncoming car, which spun out of the way, then shoved the escaping van off the highway. It leaned, then finally fell onto its side. To their right were the remaining two vans, Sablinova driving the one in front and the attacker now driving the one behind it.
"Sablinova, get out of here. Head for the rendezvous point."
"Understood," the other woman replied, driving off.
Unbuckling her seatbelt, Ellen opened her door and leaned out. Drawing her machine pistol, she shot at the remaining van's engine and front tires, hoping to cripple it. Rumlow came barreling after it, and she closed the door. The second truck rammed the van, which bumped into them before veering off and crashing into a tree.
Killmonger brought them to a stop, as did Rumlow in the second truck. Ellen opened her door and hopped down as the eight remaining members of her cell did the same. "How does one guy make all this trouble?" Rumlow asked as they walked up to the van.
"And what was so special about this one?" Ellen added. She looked to their right and saw a group of jeeps racing in their direction, similar to the ones escorting the convoy. Gesturing to two of her people, Wendel and Peters, she said, "You two, with me. The rest of you, hold them off."
Baasan cracked his knuckles as he, Rumlow, and the rest hurried to intercept the jeeps.
"Make sure the driver's actually dead this time," she told Peters.
"Got it," the redhead replied, stepping over to the cab.
Wendel drew a shotgun and covered Ellen as she opened the rear doors. Gunshots and explosions boomed nearby. She expected to find several crates full of guns, just like the other vans. Instead, its bare interior contained a cage made of iron bars, secured to the floor with heavy duty bolts. A child sat cross-legged in the cage. A girl, no older than ten. Head shaved, wearing only a threadbare tunic and manacles.
Ellen blinked in surprise. "What?" She prepared to step into the van, then stopped. The girl sat unearthly still, unbothered by the chaotic chase and crash. She regarded her with a cold, empty expression, eyes so dark she didn't seem to have pupils. No, not just dark, Ellen realized.
Black.
Something about this child made her feel sick to her stomach. As if she were looking at something radioactive, something not meant to exist. Licking her suddenly dry lips, Ellen said, "Peters, dump the bodies and drive this thing out of here."
No response.
She turned, frowning. The other woman should have been right beside her. "Peters?"
A man appeared out of nowhere, lunging at Wendel. He hissed a curse, aiming his shotgun. The figure kicked his arm up, and the blast hit nothing but air. Wendel tried to punch, but the figure dodged eerily fast and jammed two fingers of each hand into his chest and side. He grunted, stumbling back.
Ellen drew a knife coated with Rattlesnake venom and slashed, nicking the mysterious man's neck. He seemed more irritated than anything else, retaliating with a swift kick that knocked her back. Wendel's arm, after getting jabbed twice, fell limp by his side, and he dropped the shotgun. The other man landed more jabs to his chest, then a pair to his throat. Wendel's body seized, and he collapsed onto the grass as a twitching wreck. As if he were suffering a heart attack.
The man turned to regard her, and she realized it was the warlord she'd been watching earlier. He still wore his jacket, which had been perforated with bullet holes. Blood smeared the edges of every hole, so he hadn't been wearing a bulletproof jacket. By rights, he should have died. "What the hell are you?" Ellen demanded.
The warlord regarded her with haughty derision, his features gaunt and skeletal. "I am that which all men fear," he replied in a chilling, smoky voice.
When his attack came, it happened so fast Ellen nearly lost the fight. The boot came at her blindingly fast, and she dodged just in time. She slashed with her poisoned knife, throwing in kicks and punches. But the warlord blocked every one of her strikes with the ease of someone swatting a fly. Ducking, he reached out and jabbed two fingers into her left shoulder. Ellen gasped as the spot radiated white-hot agony, all sensation vanishing from her left arm as it fell limp.
She tried to stab him in the chest, but he caught her wrist with both hands. They struggled for a moment, until he furrowed his brow. The warlord looked at her with renewed interest, inhaling sharply. "You," he said, sounding shocked. "You bear Her mark!"
Ellen frowned. "What are you talking about?"
Before he had the chance to reply, something clinked against one of the open van doors. They both looked down and saw the live grenade. Ellen's eyes widened as the warlord released his grip. They both separated, running and leaping in opposite directions as the grenade exploded. The force knocked Ellen to the ground.
Coughing, she sat up and saw the van, now a flaming wreck. Looking into the warped interior, she noticed a limp hand inside the cage. The cold, black-eyed child was dead.
The warlord stood on the other side, glaring at the van and then her. He took a step forward, then jerked back as someone shot him in the gut. Standing, Ellen noticed Rumlow aiming a pistol. He shot at the warlord, who ran and disappeared behind a tree.
"Slippery little bastard," Rumlow remarked.
She gave him a venomous glare. "What the hell were you thinking?"
"You're welcome."
Ellen felt like tearing him a new one for almost killing her. She wanted to put him in his place, use the detonator to keep him from talking back to her. But she didn't. Something held her back.
He pressed his ruined lips together, drooling slightly as he regarded the destroyed van. "What about the guns?" he asked.
"We got one van," Ellen replied. "That'll have to be enough. The authorities will be here soon. We need to get moving."
"The plan was to take all of it," Rumlow protested. "Now we're settling for a third?"
"I know it's a shitty situation, but you win some, you lose some. Just be glad we didn't lose all of it." By now, the last of the warlord's men were nearly dealt with. Ellen gave a sharp whistle and jerked her thumb at the trucks. "That's enough. Let's get out of here!"
With Baasan and Rumlow giving covering fire, they all entered the trucks and drove off towards the rendezvous point.
Sitting in the passenger seat, Ellen couldn't stop thinking about that child, or the unnatural abilities of the warlord. Something about them both set her on edge like nothing else ever had.
Pretoria, South Africa…
Sowande entered the restaurant, not bothering to acknowledge the guards who bowed their heads to him. The inside stood empty, and the staff all stood by the kitchen door, awaiting word from the sole patron. She sat by the window, enjoying her meal in silence. As was her custom, she'd bought out the restaurant for an entire week during her stay.
Approaching her table, Sowande knelt before her, looking down at the floor.
"It's good to see you, old friend," Alexandra greeted, taking a sip of wine. "I trust all is well?"
He closed his eyes, sighing. No avoiding this. "The Black Sky is dead."
"That is most…disappointing. I thought you had enacted all possible security measures. No one knew we had acquired the Black Sky."
Sowande grunted. "We were ambushed shortly after leaving my warehouse. It was a group of mercenaries. They were led by the Pierce woman, from the news."
"Hm. It would seem HYDRA's favoured daughter is set on continuing her crusade." She gazed out the window in thought. "I suspect she knew nothing of our true intentions. How could she? More than likely, she sought the guns you were transporting."
"That was my assessment as well."
Alexandra set her dish aside, wiped her mouth, then said, "I'll send word to Murakami. He was close to locating another Black Sky near Osaka."
Sowande frowned. "Are you not concerned the Chaste will learn of this? We went to great efforts to keep our search hidden from our enemies."
"Our timetable will have to be moved up. No way to avoid detection, but sometimes speed is preferable to stealth. Once the Black Sky is acquired, Nobu will take delivery in New York. Our alliance with Wilson Fisk is proving beneficial for the moment." She leaned back in her chair and sipped her wine. "Now, unless there is anything else?"
"There is." He flashed back to the ambush, the sights and smells of the woman who took the Black Sky from him. "Regarding the Pierce woman. When I fought her, I detected something I had not thought possible."
"Oh?"
"There can be no mistake. She bears the Goddess' mark."
Alexandra shattered the wine glass in her hand, Sowande couldn't stop himself from flinching as pieces of glass fell to the floor, wine dripping from the tablecloth. For a long, terrible moment, he waited for his elder to speak. She took several deep, heavy breaths, and he could feel the rage boiling within her. "So," she said finally, licking the blood from her cut fingers. "It's as we feared. I always suspected the Master's enemy might take action against us. Now we have proof."
"Let me take our best assassins," Sowande said. "I will hunt down this woman and kill her before she can strike against us."
She compressed her lips in thought. "We'll leave that option open. For now, we must focus on the plan. Acquiring the Black Sky is key. After that, I'll devote every possible resource to developing Midland Circle. We must trust in the Master, as we always have."
"But if the Goddess has taken action, then the plan is in jeopardy," he protested.
Alexandra smiled. "Don't worry, old friend. If she's desperate enough to interfere in the mortal plane, that can only mean the Master has taken actions of his own. She is not the only one who can rewrite destiny."
March, 2015; Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina…
"And here they come," Tony said, watching the monitor. It showed the Avengers' souped-up Quinjet closing in on the base. Thor flew beside it, red cape fluttering behind him.
"What can we do?"
He turned to look at his client, who only went by the name Hasan. Well-groomed and dressed, as much as a separatist leader could be. He and his faction had done well for themselves in the wake of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s collapse. They'd raided the storage depot in Austria before any UN or EU force got there, walking away with a bounty of Quinjets, armoured vehicles, and enough munitions to arm a revolution.
Tony had been brought on to train the separatist troops, particularly in the usage of their new vehicles and equipment. They'd established their base in an old Soviet-era smelting plant past the outskirts of Sarajevo, beefing up the defenses. With all the advanced weaponry at play, even a NATO task force would have difficulty breaching it. Everything had been peachy keen for seven weeks, until the perimeter alarms began wailing.
Instead of a military response, they'd be facing Avengers.
"Well," Tony said, "if you or any of your guys have brown pants, I'd suggest you put 'em on."
Hasan scowled. "This is not the time for humour!"
"On the contrary, I believe life-threatening situations are the perfect place for jokes."
"I am not paying you for comedy, Taskmaster."
Tony sighed. "Fine. I'd start by focusing all your guns on that Quinjet. Then get your birds in the air to target Thor."
Hasan passed on the order through a radio. The main floor of the plant below became a hive of activity as soldiers rushed to their assigned positions. Armoured jeeps with anti-personnel cannons drove out of the parking area where the smelters used to be, kicking up gravel as they raced outside. Crates were thrown open as men distributed rifles and rocket launchers. From up here on the walkway, Tony watched his students rush to prepare for the coming storm.
On the monitor, they watched the vehicle-mounted rocket launchers and defense cannons open fire. The Avengers' Quinjet banked to the right, barely avoiding a missile streaking through the air. Another missile struck Thor dead-on, but he simply flew through the explosion without even mussing his lustrous hair. A few seconds later, the separatist Quinjets took to the air, flying towards their targets. They fired their gatling guns on the God of Thunder as the other Avengers performed evasive manoeuvres.
"You think our ships can handle Thor?" Hasan asked.
Tony snorted. "Not a chance. But hopefully they'll keep him distracted while we deal with the regular ones."
As if to prove his point, they watched Thor swing his hammer like a yo-yo, then propel himself through one of their Quinjets. It plummeted to the ground, exploding on impact.
The sound of the explosion reached them a second later. In the corner of his eye, Tony saw his client starting to sweat. Then, another monitor started beeping. It displayed a view of the main road that led from the plant to Sarajevo. A lone rider on a motorcycle rode towards the main gate, distinctive shield mounted on the front. The men on the wall above the gate focused fire with their mounted machine guns, but even the S.H.I.E.L.D.-issue armour-piercing rounds bounced off the shield.
Tony crossed his arms as he watched the engagement. Captain America sped towards the gate, but even he couldn't breach it alone. Then, Iron Man came swooping in from above. He blasted the men on the wall with his Repulsors, then fired a beam of energy from his chest. It sliced along the centre of the gate, melting through the reinforced titanium like a hot knife through butter. Captain America and his motorcycle then plowed through the gate, throwing it open as he entered the courtyard outside.
Iron Man flew back up, blasting a pair of defensive cannons with missiles. The plant shook from the reverberations.
"Looks like we're about to have company," Tony said. With the defenses outside being torn to ribbons, it wouldn't take long for the Avengers to breach the building.
A nearby scream drew his and Hasan's attention. One of the latter's men fell from one of the walkways before impacting the floor below. Tony winced, pitying the poor bastard. Looking across the way, he saw Black Widow standing near one of the now-open windows, Hawkeye beside her. They must have parachuted down from their Quinjet. While the former focused on fighting a trio of soldiers, the latter knocked an arrow and fired it at Hasan.
Tony, using Hawkeye's own reflexes, caught the arrow just before it would've pierced his client's chest. Breaking it in half, he drew his own collapsible bow, knocked an arrow, and loosed. It split open mid-air, deploying a net of high-tension razor wire. Hawkeye rolled out of the way, firing an arrow crackling with electricity. Tony unfolded his shield, which blocked the arrow. Retracting it a second later, he moved forward until he and his opponent stood across from each other.
Tony copied Hawkeye's every movement as they fired arrows at each other, acting as mirror images. The arrows, all fired with perfect precision, struck each other mid-air. They advanced on each other, closing into melee range. Hawkeye swung his bow like a staff. Tony opted to use Captain America's moves. Ducking to avoid the bow, he landed an uppercut to his opponent's jaw, then kicked him square in the gut.
"Welcome to Ass-Kicking 101," he said as Hawkeye landed on his back. "I'll be your instructor this evening. This course will work on a pass/fail system. Believe me, you DON'T want to fail."
"Just shut up, Masters!" Hawkeye retorted. Still on his back, he knocked an arrow and fired it at the ceiling. It exploded, blasting chunks of concrete loose. Those chunks fell straight down, and Tony flipped back to get out of the way as the other man rolled in the opposite direction.
Something struck Tony in the back, staggering him. It released a powerful burst of electricity, but fortunately his armour's insulation kept him safe. He turned just as Black Widow came flying at him from the other walkway. She kicked the bow out of his hand, then wrapped her legs around his torso and flipped him onto his stomach. He used her moves to flip back onto his feet with the grace of a master ballerina.
"Hey, Romanoff," he greeted, drawing a large knife from his ankle sheath. "Good to see ya again, beautiful."
"Wish I could say the same. That skull mask doesn't do you any favours."
He lunged with a series of Winter Soldier moves, flipping the knife to change grips and switching hands to keep her on the back foot. As they fought, he couldn't help but admire her appearance. She looked good, as always, having cut her hair since last he saw her. The black, formfitting –and what a form she had– catsuit now featured blue piping that ran from her boots to her neck and arms. She powered up her Widow's Bite gauntlets, the piping glowing in response. Widow delivered two solid punches to his abdomen, discharging the stored electricity.
Tony grunted, knocked back against the railing. From a distance, Hawkeye fired an arrow at him. He held up one of his gauntlets, knocking the arrow aside. Unfortunately, it proved enough of a distraction for Widow to sweep his leg then kick him in the head. Tony went tumbling over the railing. Mind racing, he selected the strength and agility of that weird Panther guy he fought in Ethiopia. Reaching out, he grabbed the metal grating and swung himself back up the other side. Twisting mid-air, he landed on the railing itself, ready to pounce.
Romanoff whirled around in surprise, and he landed a kick to her chest as he hopped back onto the walkway. "You got some nice moves," he complimented.
"You don't know anything about my moves," she replied confidently.
"Darlin', I know everything about them." Dodging another electric punch, he grabbed her by the arm and stomach, crouched, and tossed her into the nearest wall.
Just then, the window beside him shattered as Iron Man came roaring in. He primed the Repulsors in both gauntlets and fired. Tony cartwheeled to the side, barely avoiding the blasts of force. With his right hand, he retrieved his bow. Knocking a trick arrow, he loosed it at the flying billionaire. Iron Man flew to the side, but the arrow exploded beside him in a sonic wave, knocking him back.
Captain America leaped into view from below, cocking an arm back and hurling his shield at Tony.
Tony dove over the railing. Aiming at the ceiling, he fired the grappler built into his gauntlet. It struck and imbedded into the concrete, giving him purchase. Retracting the cable, he shot up towards Iron Man. Disconnecting the grappler, he engaged his magnetic gloves and latched onto the red and gold armour.
"Ah, son of a…!" Stark hissed. "Would you mind getting off? I don't like clingy fans."
"And I say you need to open up more," Tony retorted. "Let me give you a hand!" Holding on tight, he started punching the other man's helmet with his left hand. They zigged and zagged through the air as Iron Man kept trying to dislodge him. All the while, gunshots and explosions sounded from below and from outside.
Not wanting to risk getting blasted or burned by some fancy toy, Tony decided to abandon his current position. After one final punch, he took out a demo charge from his belt. Slapping it onto Iron Man's back, he let go and fell. Aiming at one of the steel girders overhead, he fired his grappler into it. The cable went taut as he swung down, before releasing it as he hit the ground running.
The charge detonated, and Iron Man tumbled through the air and smashed into one of the spare jeeps.
Giving a sharp whistle, Tony pointed at the Avengers on the walkway above and shouted, "Upucajte ih!" ["Shoot them!"]
The soldiers within earshot raised their rifles and unleashed a barrage of bullets, forcing Black Widow, Hawkeye, and Captain America to scatter. One soldier hefted a rocket launcher onto his shoulder, then fired at the star-spangled hero. Captain America leaped off the walkway seconds before the missile exploded behind him. He plummeted, landing on his shield and sliding across the floor.
To the left, Hawkeye and Black Widow slid down a zipline. Tony extended his shield, then hurled it at the archer. It struck him in the chest, knocking his grip loose. He fell the last ten feet, landing hard on the concrete.
"Clint!" Widow cried.
Noticing Iron Man back in play, Tony hurried to where his shield fell and re-attached it to his gauntlet. The iconic red and gold armour appeared blackened by soot on the left side, but otherwise it had no discernible damage. "Hey, Thomas Edison. Stop stealing our schtick!"
"Oh that's rich," he said, dodging a Repulsor blast. "Coming from the billionaire trust fund baby. I'm sure you've had tons of employees whose ideas you've ripped off."
"Christ, you really do talk to much," Stark muttered.
"Takes one to know one. You want to know the difference between you and me, Stark?" He gestured to himself. "I make this look good."
"Okay, you did NOT just quote Will Smith at me!" Stark crossed his arms over his chest in sync with a high-pitched whine. Throwing his arms to the side, he stuck out his chest as the glowing circle –now bright as the sun– discharged a solid beam of pure energy. Tony reacted by planting his feet and raising his shield. The beam hit like a truck, the sheer force pushing him back. He slid on the concrete, his arm already sore from maintaining his position. Glancing to his right, he angled the shield just enough so the beam reflected into a wall, pulverizing a good chunk instantaneously.
Finally, the beam vanished. Tony huffed in relief, examining his shield. It smoked, the surface glowing as the heat slowly dissipated.
Iron Man cocked his head to the side. "Huh. Didn't expect that."
"Like it?" Tony asked, nodding to his shield. "Refractive coating. Disperses excess heat from energy-based attacks. Thought it might come in handy if you and I ever tussled like this."
"Not bad…Taskmaster, was it? You couldn't have picked a better name? Or a less flashy costume?"
Tony felt his eye twitch. "Like you're one to talk."
"He does have an ego problem," Black Widow admitted as she came into view, aiming twin pistols at him. "He's working on it." Hawkeye appeared beside her, bow drawn. The three Avengers readied their weapons as they faced him. Farther away, Captain America fought the dozens of soldiers converging on him.
"You might not want to get ahead of yourselves," Tony cautioned, drawing a pistol as he held his shield up. "You've still got an army of ornery Bosnians with next-gen weaponry to deal with. Not to mention yours truly, who can and will kick all your asses before supper."
"Oh don't worry," Stark replied. "We've got that covered."
The far wall of the plant burst open as an armoured jeep crashed through. The men nearby cried out and stepped back, aiming their weapons at the latest breach. Then, through the rubble and smoke from the battle outside, a colossal figure emerged. Big and green and mean, it hopped onto the wrecked jeep. With fists bigger than a human head, it pounded its bulging, ridiculously muscled chest and let loose a thundering roar that made the steel girders vibrate. Hulk had come to smash everything in sight.
Tony took one look and said, "Okay, I'm out."
Holstering his pistol, he took out a smoke bomb and threw it at his feet. It exploded, casting a cloud of thick haze that'd obscure him, at least for a bit. The second the bomb went off, Tony turned and sprinted for the opening in the wall made from Iron Man's reflected Unibeam. Bullets flew through the smoke, pinging off his armour, as did a pair of arrows. Reaching the opening, he grabbed three gumball-sized silver explosives from a belt pouch and dropped them at his feet.
He turned left and kept running as a trio of explosions boomed behind him, covering his escape. Following the wall, he came upon the courtyard, now marked by smoking craters, destroyed equipment, and men laying either unconscious or severely wounded. Like something out of a World War I movie.
Through the battle-torn yard, he spotted a jeep that looked mostly intact. Sure its gun turret had been ripped off like the lid of a sardine can, and the driver's side door had a shield-shaped hole, but as long as the engine worked, he didn't care.
Sometimes, you just have to walk away from a bad situation.
Any of you seen Doctor Strange MoM yet? I won't spoil anything, but it was AMAZING! Horrifying in some parts, sad in many others. All in all, a fantastic Sam Raimi film that I highly recommend you watch at some point.
Vosck: Thanks!