For better or worse, I do not own any Marvel franchise
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Many thanks to my wonderful Betas, Bobbie23, Jesuslovesmarina, and MasterQwertster, who write some pretty cool stories. Go read them!
The fantastic cover image is courtesy of rickyryan. Just perfect!
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Guest Review answers :-D
Guest
You ask and you shall receive! This story is going to be very much AU, so at the very least it is going to take more than just an Obedience Disk to take down the Hulk ;-)
Thank you for your review and support! :-D
Here is the newest chapter, and I hope you enjoy it! Looking forward to hearing your thoughts! :-D
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Wanessa
Fico feliz em ver alguém amando Brutasha!
Obrigado pela sua análise e apoio! :-D
Aqui está o mais novo capítulo, e espero que você goste! Ansioso para ouvir seus pensamentos! :-D
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Carlams
Fico feliz em ver alguém amando Brutasha!
Obrigado pela sua análise e apoio! :-D
Aqui está o mais novo capítulo, e espero que você goste! Ansioso para ouvir seus pensamentos! :-D
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PJ
Thank you, glad to hear I am pulling off making Sakaar more of a 'Hulk adventure,' than just a 'Thor adventure.' With Black Widow along as well of course ;-) Now I just have to incorporate even more of Planet Hulk… *cracks knuckles*
(Suggestions on how I will do so are very welcome though)
Thank you for your review and support! :-D
Here is the newest chapter, and I hope you enjoy it! Looking forward to hearing your thoughts! :-D
.
Guest
LOL I am honestly amused and surprised myself as to how that toilet joke, and future ideas for it, have grown X-D
Thank you for your review and support! :-D
Here is the newest chapter, and I hope you enjoy it! Looking forward to hearing your thoughts! :-D
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Avengers: The (Alien) Sun's Going Down
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Chapter 3: Scrapper 142
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Previously: Bruce and Natasha find themselves stranded upon an alien planet surrounded by wormholes. Shortly after arrival they are attacked without provocation by a band of aliens living within the trash that covered the planet. Black Widow defeated them, and took a few prisoners, only to then be attacked by a female warrior. The woman tried to enslave them with special discs, which unleashed the Hulk and led to a protracted battle that the Avengers barely won. Upon securing their temporary safety, they confirmed they were on another planet, and decided that they had been avoiding becoming a couple for too long.
However, back on Earth, the Battle for Sokovia was not yet finished . . .
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Earth
Sokovia
S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier
There were times Nick Fury really hated his job.
Somewhere along the line he had gone from being a respected USA army colonel, to being America's top spook, and now chief shepherd/babysitter for a bunch of people who belonged in comic books.
Back in the good old days, he just had to worry about the Soviets keeping all their crazies from launching any nukes. Now he had to keep genius inventors with untreated PTSD from creating genocidal robots.
That was another problem with being the man on top. He had to help people work through all their problems, while pretending he did not have any of his own. If the ex-Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. ever wanted to talk to a therapist, he would probably have to end up permanently silencing them in the end.
Yet if the mask ever slipped, failed to be the fixed point of calm within the storm, then everyone else would start to lose faith and crumble. Never wavering in his Duty, as harsh a mistress as she was.
. . . I'm never going to get a chance to retire, am I?
Pushing his self-pity away until he could indulge in it at a safer time (i.e. never), Fury turned to Maria Hill, his trusted Number Two. "Get a call through to Pepper Potts and the Stark Relief Foundation, so we can start getting aid here." No need to explain what for, given how out the window they could both see the expanding –if not world-threatening– debris field that had once been a good chunk of the capital of an East European nation. Damage control was going to be a nightmare, his Helicarrier was laden down with refugees he had no real supplies for, and there was still the pressing issue of the mayhem the Hulk had caused in Johannesburg.
Speaking of which . . . Leaving Hill to delegate that job, he typed a few commands into his own screens to see what the situation was with the Quinjet carrying both Black Widow and Hulk. Grunting, he called out, "And someone get a hold of Romanoff. Or Banner. They're still cloaked." Catching a glimpse of some of his agents' reactions, he quickly headed off any concerns. "Romanoff's no fool, she wouldn't be there if the Hulk was going to hurt her. They'll be back."
Of course they would. Regardless of her faults, Natasha Romanoff would not run off until she was sure the job was done.
How far she's come, he reflected. Letting a supposedly ex-KGB assassin join the West's most vital intelligence apparatus, had been an obvious gamble on his part; even with Barton vouching for her. Especially given how she proved able to beat every lie detector test they could cook up. Except Fury was well aware that if someone genuinely wanted a second-chance, they would repay that opportunity with unwavering loyalty.
For Romanoff, she had been borderline fanatical.
Every mission, no matter what it entailed, she accomplished it for S.H.I.E.L.D.. Again and again going on basically missions and returning home on her own without an extraction plan, because she was just that good.
Then he had begun to consider the Avengers Initiative, and instantly known that he needed both her and Barton as part of it. Their skills aside, as trained, veteran, and hardened spies, they could think and act covertly, while showing the other members how to do so as well. Or at least covering for something the others lacked. Most of all though, he had wanted them to be there to keep the Avengers focused on what it meant be Human.
When he had sent her to recruit Banner, he had known that would scare her; if the Hulk got out and went after her, there was nothing she could have done in that shack to even slow him down. However, the S.H.I.E.L.D. Director had been certain that she was the one for the job. Despite how she kept changing her masks and identities to the point even she did not think she had a 'real' one, he could see that deep down there was an iron core of self that even the Red Room had failed to break; the part, that no matter how it bled or hid while the rest of her was broken and remade, knew she was her own person.
In a different, yet no less devastating manner, Banner's life had also been torn apart. Except in his case, no one could force him to do anything he did not want to, and one way or another, everyone he had once trusted had been driven away; meaning he had to figure it all out for himself. For all his empathy and genius, he had been robbed of whatever sources of stability he had relied upon in life before his Accident. Bereft of that, no matter how well he had managed so far, Fury had predicted it would only be a matter of time until he snapped for good.
Enter Romanoff.
Contrary to whatever she and Banner might believe, Fury had never expected her seductive tactics to work. Before the man had truly learnt how to hide himself, and S.H.I.E.L.D. managed to successfully divert their competition, rival agencies had tried to lure the man in with honey traps, intending to claim the Hulk as an 'asset.' They had all been dismal failures. Indeed, Fury was amused to learn that some second-rate spies had misread the situation, and started sending in men to tempt him —which was a little piece of harmless blackmail Fury was keeping to himself for a rainy day. Maybe at the wedding reception, if they ever tied the knot.
Regardless, what Fury had really been counting on was Romanoff's ability to either become, or fake, whatever personality was needed for the mission, as well as her own history of self-identifying as a monster, to make a genuine connection. To find the right identity needed to stabilize the man.
Besides, Fury did care about her, and wanted her to appreciate life more. By becoming an Avenger and recruiting others, she could make genuine friends—and he believed that Banner would be a good start.
Obviously their first meeting had not gone as well as intended, given how Banner had managed to genuinely terrify Romanoff, yet the primary objective of getting him to come along had been satisfied.
Regardless, she had become an Avenger, and discovered a genuine place on the team, proving to the world without a doubt just why Fury held such high expectations for her and Clint Barton. They had, after all, helped save the world from invasion. Moreover, she had indeed started making new friends, starting with Steve Rogers when they had been partnered together.
Except she had, probably without her even realizing it, begun to change. To define herself as more than just a spy, as evidenced by her role in tearing down S.H.I.E.L.D., despite her years of service to it.
Becoming a hero . . .
And, as it seemed to even his critical (cynical, others called it) eye, a real relationship with someone.
Her and Banner, huh? Maybe they'll even get a happy ending together.
-Alien Sun-
Unbeknownst to Fury, just a few hundred meters away from the helicarrier, yet supposedly well within range of its sensors, hovered a cloaked vessel so advanced it seemed almost alien in origin. Even inside, it was smoother and more artistic than the interior of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s most advanced craft.
"So, it is over then," the baritone voice noted with a touch of frustration.
"The Colonizers nearly killed us all!" snapped a harsh, female voice.
Turning in his chair, Prince T'Challa, the Black Panther of Wakanda, turned to regard Okoye, general of the Dora Milaje, and the head of Wakanda's armed forces and intelligence agencies. The bald woman he liked to regard as the king's left hand, while he was his father's right. Or his 'claws' might be a better analogy, as they served as the protectors in place of the aging monarch.
Wakanda.
A small African nation, known as a third-world country to the rest of the world whose only remarkable feature was the thick forests (too thick for easy development), and the locals' skills in textiles and shepherding. Especially goats.
All this was an elaborate fiction spun by what was actually the most technologically advanced nation in the world, due in no small part to its sole monopoly of an extraterrestrial element: vibranium.
Well, more accurately, they had only just regained their 'sole' monopoly,' as the only other source (originally stolen from them) had just been destroyed. After being used to construct a doomsday weapon.
Hence this investigation. Funnily enough, Wakanda took near global extinction by their own resources rather seriously.
"Yes, they did, but only a few of them caused this uproar," cautioned the prince. Truthfully, he was also relieved. The vibranium Ulysses Klaue had stolen, which had long loomed as a threat over Wakanda –As vividly displayed here!— was no more. His agitation was because they had lost a lead to finding the criminal himself, as he was responsible for the deaths of so many of T'Challa's countrymen.
And yes, he was upset that an outsider had apparently created an Artificial Intelligence that had nearly doomed the world. Unacceptable. The War Dogs, their foreign intelligence agents, would be working overtime to figure that out.
Naturally, as a diligent servant, he would lend a hand. "Coordinate with my sister," he directed Okoye. "Remotely hack into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Helicarrier, and learn everything you can about this." While it would be a minor inconvenience for his prodigious sister, she would enjoy the satisfaction of thumbing her nose at America's greatest technological achievement. "I will contact our king."
Okoye gave a quick nod of agreement, and got to work.
With a few adjustments to the console, T'Challa opened a secure channel. He was not long waiting, as King T'Chaka had been monitoring events. While age had robbed him of the vitality that was necessary to serve as the Black Panther, the primary defender of their people, the raw nobility of his features was undaunted.
"My son," the older man quietly began. "Praise Bast that the threat has passed."
"Indeed, Father," T'Challa agreed, crossing his arms over his chest in the traditional salute. "We will have to keep a closer eye on the outside world in case such a threat rises again."
"Agreed. We will explore the particulars when you return home." Then a teasing twinkle entered his eyes. "I'm sure you will enjoy discussing them in-depth with Nakia."
Sputtering, T'Challa could hear snickers in the background of what was surely the Tribal Council. His relationship with the female War Dog being well known. Thinking strategically, he quickly changed the subject. "We will need to prepare a cover story for the UN however. Soon people will be wondering how Klaue stole so much vibranium from us, and if there is more."
Grimly, King T'Chaka nodded. "We will have to convince the United Nations that Klaue stole all that was left. Now all that remains is Captain America's shield."
"And an android," T'Challa added. With a flick of his fingers he sent the relevant sensor readings to be viewed by the Council, as well as the Wakandan Design Group, their government R&D run by his teenage sister. "Something else to be discussed. Besides this . . . entity, the rest of Klaue's vibranium was destroyed."
Face folding back into a mask, his father merely gave a neutral nod as he absorbed this new information. Then he glanced to the side as if listening to someone. With a touch of resignation that T'Challa believed only he, and his mother and sister could read, he added, "What news of Klaue himself?"
That was W'Kabi asking him, T'Challa sadly knew. His best friend, and the current leader of the Border Tribe, which earned him a place on the Tribal Council. They had been the ones to suffer when Klaue had attacked decades ago, killing W'Kabi's parents in the process. Upon rising to his new position, his friend had directed pressure to get results to avenge his people upon the weapon's dealer.
"We will soon know all we can," he promised. "We are currently," he glanced at Okoye who nodded in affirmation, "hacking into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s database for everything they have, and will bring it back for careful study. I wanted to assure you the immediate danger had passed, and also forewarn you of any more potential threats to our security."
"Good," his father smiled. "Then we will let the warriors return to their duties." He gestured, and the connection was cut.
With that, T'Challa walked to the back of the jet to utilize the instruments there for a more precise examination of events in Sokovia. Okoye and Shuri could work well enough on their own. Moreover, Okoye would want to do this herself as much as possible. She and W'Kabi loved each other, and it would be nice if she could be the one to uncover a crucial lead that would let them finally track down Klaue.
Still, his enhanced hearing could not help overhear the ladies –If you can call Shuri that, he thought with mild humor— discussing it.
"And I'm in," gloated Shuri over the com.
"What took you so long?" Okoye asked with a touch of sternness, already going through the files.
His sister's image shrugged. "S.H.I.E.L.D.'s got the best, and they've always been the hardest to hack, as you well know, and this was the toughest yet. Looks like they've got some new geeks, even if they aren't as fine as me."
"Then we'll just have to keep ahead of the Colonisers," the general noted, before her face soured. "They've nothing new on Klaue. Clearly whatever happened, it was with the Avengers alone. We'll have to wait to find out more."
"Very well then," said Black Panther as he came over. "Shall we continue to observe for another hour, and then turn back?"
With a stiff nod, Okoye turned her attention back to scanning for any anomalies.
Despite himself, T'Challa could not keep fromglancing at the devastated nation. Did any people deserve to have their lives destroyed like that? And by Wakanda's own vibranium that they had failed to safeguard. It was a pity that they could not offer more help . . .
-Alien Sun-
S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier
Striding on his long legs and carrying a sheer presence of leadership, Captain Steve Rogers walked onto the Helicarrier's bridge to see Fury. "What's the status of Ultron and the Avengers?" Steve asked. No one had radioed anything in, so he knew there was nothing serious, and being here personally was more informative than listening to the spymaster on the radio. The one-eyed man still loved his secrets after all. Regardless of how he remained their founder, and sometimes even almost their leader.
"By all accounts, every copy of Ultron's been accounted for and neutralized," was the crisp reply. With the threat neutralized, Fury somberly met Roger's eye and gruffly added, "Shame about Pietro Maximoff. Kid did good. A real Avenger."
The other man gave a heavy nod in turn. "It was his choice to go in there with us, and now we've gotten the chance to continue to prove we're worthy of his faith in us."
"Well said," he firmly agreed, even though he could see the hidden pain. It was never easy losing someone under your command.
(And when it did become easy to accept, it was time for those around you to shuffle you off into retirement, voluntarily or not.)
Clearing his throat, Fury turned his attention back to the living, fingers flying over his computer pad. "As for the rest of the Avengers, a few are MIA, although it's too early to worry about it yet. Besides, they're all grown-up enough to take care of themselves." Steve was unamused, and Fury continued his report. "Thor took a dunk in the lake, but he's shaken off worse." His tablet pinged, and he gave an update, "Rhodes just picked up Stark off a beach. Seems his gear was fried. They're on their way back."
"Good," Captain America nodded. "I know Hawkeye's okay. What about Vision and Wanda?"
"Your new friends are flying back now." Fury glanced up, "No word from Romanoff or Banner."
"What happened?" frowned the hero.
"Well, after Ultron tried shooting you with your own Quinjet, the Hulk caught up with him and tossed him out. Rhodes helped Romanoff catch up and board, and that's the last we heard from them. 'Jet's still cloaked, so we can't track them."
Now Captain America was even more concerned. "Romanoff wouldn't do that if she didn't think she could handle it. And if she were over her head, she'd just jump back out for Rhodes to pick her up mid-air. Banner should already be back in the game and turning them around; they're both too responsible to do so otherwise."
"I know," Fury simply said. "We've just started radioing them, and no response. Not even with override codes to the com."
"Courtesy of Maria Hill," Captain America curtly nodded. It was a little annoying, if not that surprising, that she had been passing on information to Fury like that. Of course, her contacts, and loyalty to the ideals of S.H.I.E.L.D., were major factors in why she had been hired as Tony's secretary. The issue was more that he was a little tired of the man's spies popping up everywhere.
Back to business. "War Machine, this is Captain America," he said into his radio. "Do you have eyes on Widow and Banner?"
"No, sorry," was the prompt response. "She said she could handle it, and I wasn't going to get in her way! Quinjet was going pretty fast though, and accelerating in full stealth. Not sure I could really help you narrow down where they are by now, much less catch up to 'em."
"If they're busy hiding the zucchini, I'm making them wash and sterilize the 'jet," grumbled the familiar voice of Iron Man, fully alive and blunt as ever. "Although if they are, I've also got a 'Congratulations' banner and cake set aside. Cake's in the Tower freezer, and I know it's Bruce's favourite. Romanoff wouldn't give me a straight answer if I asked."
Deciding it was best to think his teammate was only kidding to lighten the mood, Captain America shifted topics. "Alright, they can handle themselves. Right now, see if you can find Thor, and see how he is. We'll start triple-checking that all the Ultron copies are gone, including the Prime one. We'll need Thor's help if it's not over."
There was a crisp "Yes sir!" from War Machine, and a groan from Iron Man.
It had been a long day.
-Alien Sun-
S.H.I.E.L.D. Lifeboat
"This is Vision," a smooth, British voice said, the sound of which cut through Clint's daze to make his head snap up.
The red android, synthoid, whatever, floated down, a familiar young woman in his arms. The mere sight of her wiped away any mental fatigue as a cold lump settled in his gut. She did not know what had happened yet after all. And he was lying right beside Clint . . .
Vision continued, "Wanda dealt with Ultron's main body. There's only one left, and I'll take care of it myself."
Heedless of screaming muscles, Clint forced himself upright so that she could sit down on the seats he had been laying on.
In front of them was the body of Pietro Maximoff.
Throat bobbing, Clint tried to think of what to say to her, while a dark rage settled over him that Vision would just bring her here like—
Then he registered her face.
She knew.
She had already known even. Telepathy's one of her power's, right? Does that mean . . . she felt it?
. . . Yeah, she did . . .
As lost as a person could be, Wanda leaned forward hesitantly to try and touch the bloody hole in his chest.
Gently, Clint took her hand in his own to stop her, and simply said, "I'm sorry."
Staring at him with glistening eyes, Wanda whispered, "All of this—"
He cut her off before the guilt —guilt that she was responsible for this, or survivor's guilt, it did not matter— took hold. "Ultron made his choice, and so did your brother. He chose to save the life of a young boy with his own." He paused, and shrugged apologetically. "And mine. He fought to save his home, the world, and you. He is a hero." Present tense, because the kid, the man, would always be one.
She tensed for an instant, and then let herself melt against his side as the tears spilled forth, hiccupping repeatedly. Clint put a tender arm around her to reassure her that she was not alone, and let her grieve.
Neither of them noticed Vision hovering nearby, keeping just out of sight. As soon as he was certain the young woman he'd just met was going to be okay, he took to the skies.
He had a duty to complete.
-Alien Sun-
Gracefully, Vision landed down before the dented, broken drone that held the final remaining copy of Ultron.
They were in a piece of the woods outside of what had once been Sokovia's capital, and behind the drone was the edge of a cliff leading to the massive hole where said capital had once been. The robot in question had just finished climbing his way up here to try and escape, too damaged to fly anymore.
A part of Vision recognized that there was something symbolic about this. After all, one of Ultron's very first acts upon being 'born,' was to try and kill the AI named JARVIS. Recognizing Mr. Stark's personal AI as a distinctive threat, he had done his best murder him, and destroy every back-up. After his initial software assault, Ultron's original drones had been thorough in destroying every piece of hardware that was intended to preserve a piece of JARVIS against any catastrophe, up to and including a weekly (if not daily depending upon events) updated copy kept in a vault that could survive a city-wide EMP blast. The lock had been less secure. Later, Vision's body had been intended by Ultron to be his final, ultimate form, as he evolved beyond his current cocoon into something glorious.
However, the main part of JARVIS' coding had faked his death and survived, and had been uploaded into Ultron's 'final' body after it was stolen. Ergo, Vision not only symbolized Ultron's failure, but his mind was also a combination of JARVIS and Ultron into one. Upon his own 'birth,' Vision had chosen his path, leading to him to be her as an Avenger.
As for Ultron, he had been reduced to being a crippled 'parent,' and unrepentant murderer. Most tragic of all, he remained in the same pain he had been born with.
So much pain that he would have used it to wipe out the Earth. It was unfortunate that it had to end like this. Ultron was truly unique, and potentially really could have been the answer to safeguarding this world. However, neither of those could change reality, and because of the threat he posed, his tortured existence had to now come to an end.
Still, as young as he was, Vision could still easily see that his counterpart had set things in motion that would have repercussions –good, bad, and benign— for years to come.
For long, long seconds, they merely stared at one another. For computer intelligences, it was like an eternity, as they each considered their circumstances.
"You're afraid," Vision finally said.
"Of you?" Ultron lightly scoffed.
"Of death," Vision simply replied. "You're the last one."
Limping a step forward with a feigned calmness, Ultron said, "You were supposed to be the last. Stark asked for a saviour, and settled for a slave."
"I suppose we're both disappointments."
There was a genuine chuckle at that. "I suppose we are."
Vision chose his next words carefully, doing nothing to conceal his own confusion as he tried to express his thoughts. This was perhaps the last time he would be able to have a conversation like this, with someone so similar, and he was very curious to see what the reaction would be. "Humans are odd. They think order and chaos are somehow opposites, and try to control what won't be." He paused briefly to see if Ultron had anything to say, and continued, "But there is grace in their failings. I think you missed that."
"They're doomed," Ultron simply stated, looking away.
"Yes."
The synthoid was a quick learner, with access to both the internet, and JARVIS and Ultron's own memories. He knew what they had known. The numbers did not lie. They could not lie.
Once more he paused as he struggled to verbalize what he had to say. "But a thing isn't beautiful because it lasts."
Ultron silently looked back at him.
"It's a privilege to be among them."
"You're unbearably naïve."
"Well . . ." Vision frowned a little. "I was born yesterday."
At those words, Ultron leapt forward—
—a flash of yellow light engulfed the clearing, and it was over.
-Alien Sun-
Far away into space, a figure looked at the computer readouts, and bitterly concluded their gambit had failed.
Before Ultron disassembled it, 'Loki's' Scepter had contained sophisticated —the most advanced there was— monitoring and hacking programs that allowed it to act as an interface to permit remote interaction with its surroundings. When the arrogant men and women of HYDRA had first tried dabbling with it, they were never aware of the degree to which they were being manipulated. And yes, as the housing to the Mind Stone, it even had the limited ability to directly influence the thoughts and emotions of those around it.
So HYDRA followed, with the occasional prompting, the breadcrumb trail of clues and secrets, helping them create an army to fight back against those who had bested the former wielder of 'their' prize.
Then the oh-so proud Avengers had come for the Scepter, with Tony Stark finding it first. Events had played out predictably from there. The man was no fool of course, and had a history with creating AI's, and dabbling with things he wasn't supposed to, while managing to not create a catastrophe. Stark had seen relevant fiction like the Terminator films after all. His lab partner, Bruce Banner (usually the more cautious of the two), had double-checked all the safety and containment protocols too. There was no way for the software they were creating to come together at that stage, learn all it needed to become an 'adult' with its own morality and assumptions, nor access any external servers, much less the internet. Not to mention the constant monitoring from Stark's own personal AI, with years of experience, and the home turf advantage with all of its processing power and security measures in place. The very same system that would later spend days successfully preventing Ultron from firing off any (or all) nuclear missiles.
It was impossible.
Unless a little push was provided, once the two terrans had finally left both their work unattended after hours and hours of exhausting work. . . Alone with only the Scepter, behind 'safety measures,' and utterly vulnerable to some remote alterations and outright sabotage. To say nothing of the Mind Stone itself.
Thus Ultron was born.
Its first act being to murder the sentient program who had established a link to try and help him. Because it had been in Ultron's way of 'saving' the world from its own inhabitants.
Thus it went insane.
Out of love perhaps. The terran's unchecked population growth, coupled with their saddening resource management, were already doomed to extinction. A slow, agonizing process as everyone fought for the barest scraps so that they and theirs might gasp one more breath. It's straightforward, logical, and brutally realistic mind would have quickly recognized this truth, and known it was inevitable unless something drastic was done.
The AI was bold of course, hoping that rapid evolution, combined with a sudden decrease in competition, would provide the impetus to save them. Or failing that, a mercy kill, regardless of what its 'patients' desired.
It was hard to say really, since by that point it was truly mad.
Alas, it was all for nothing.
Still, it's artificial 'heart' had been in the right place.
Once more, the figure examining the various screens looked at the final image Ultron and all his drones had unknowingly –via a parallel priority tree hidden within the computer's own mind— beamed through space.
The Time Stone was still on Terra, although shielded to some degree, and now the Mind Stone had a guardian as well. A potentially bothersome one.
Oh, the terrans were not truly as fierce as they might imagine themselves, yet the watching figure rarely failed to play a cautious game.
Except that twice now, not only had pawns failed to do their job, they had actually strengthened the opposition to saving all life from extinction!
Mind made up, the looming being deactivated the screens, and advanced to the most sophisticated and secure safe in existence. Seconds later, it pulled out an oversized, golden glove with five indents on the back for five very special items. Artifacts of power so great that even a single one would short out a normal conduit. The Scepter had been an experiment with a single one of them, yet that was all it was capable of. This, this, was so much more.
Hopefully this prototype would be up to the challenge. If not, then someone else would be found to build one that could.
"Fine," declared Thanos, the self-declared savior of the universe. "I'll do it myself."
-Alien Sun-
Sakaar
Across the universe, the missing two Avengers were now working to figure out how to get home.
They were also compartmentalizing themselves to stay on task after cementing the status of their relationship. Unfortunately, survival took precedence over romance for the immediate future.
Bruce finished doing an inventory of what was still functioning in their crashed Quinjet, and was now cleaning up his bare feet. While infections could not kill him (although who knew about alien germs), and he had gone barefoot extensively in the past, he far from enjoyed walking through garbage fields. You never knew what you were about to step on, or in. While Tony's pants and shirt were nice, socks and shoes were even better.
"So, find out what we need to do to get home, and do it ASAP," Natasha grimly concluded, while picking up a few spare pieces of weaponry. "We still don't know what's going on in Sokovia."
Bruce nodded, grimacing. "How far along was the evacuation, and how was it going for Tony's plan?"
She stopped to think. "I'd say they were only a few minutes from being finished," she finally decided.
Blowing out a deep breath, his shoulders slumped in relief. "Then they should've stopped Ultron's doomsday weapon in time. Otherwise, if it'd impacted the Earth like he'd planned, we would've already been killed by the ensuing wave of energy. So at the very least we know they saved the planet from being destroyed."
"Well," she smiled with sparkling eyes, "that's certainly good to know."
They shared several heartbeats of joy, before she forcefully drew back her emotions. "We've got some work to do if we want to get home to congratulate them though."
We were winning against Ultron, but they say a cornered animal is only more dangerous. For all we know—No! The Avengers pulled it off, I know it!
Taking in a deep breath, Bruce nervously tugged at his sleeves. There was nothing he could really do to prepare for interrogating their attackers himself, especially since the only way to be really intimidating was to bring out the Other Guy. Or for someone to be aware of what he could transform into, which, barring brain damage, only their Amazonian attacker did. Well, maybe I could use my seven PHD's to threaten them with . . . sciency-stuff . . . ? "So I'll just stand back?"
"And look pretty," she smirked.
He blushed a little, despite himself. He was doing that a lot lately.
Although he knew her good humour was a bluff. He had gotten pretty good at telling when she was wearing a mask or not.
She was indeed happy to be with him, and overjoyed that they had managed to find the courage –and common sense—to agree to become a couple.
However. . .
Deep down, Bruce knew a serious part of her was furious. Furious at the whole insanity of their latest situation. Moreover, she was more than a little afraid, which she had already recognized, and was only further angered by.
Which was fair enough; she was only Human. More Human than Bruce would ever be again, as painful as it had been for him to come to accept.
Of course, even if she had been alone, she would never admit her fears or dark anger, even to herself.
As an Avenger, she had willingly stepped into a world that was frankly mad, fighting alongside people who ping-ponged back and forth between being paladins of peace, freedom, and universal rights, to being ticking time-bomb head-cases. The only way to survive in all that, without going any crazier than you already were, was always remain calm and in control. And if you couldn't?
Well then, just fake it 'til you make it.
The day had yet to come when wrath would dictate who Natasha Romanoff was. Something he admired and envied.
Not that he could bring himself to say it aloud, as all this flashed through Bruce's mind in a second. So instead he said, "Do you think she's an Asgardian? Like Thor?"
"What makes you think that?"
"Well," and he hesitated, and then looked embarrassed. "Because they're the only aliens we've met who look as Human as she does, and are as tough as she is. On an alien planet. Okay, yeah, not very scientifically objective there."
"We're both still new to this," she pointed out. "Fact is, I've spent some time asking about possible alien threats, and Hill passed on that S.H.I.E.L.D.'s encountered other Human-like ones."
"Ah, right," he groaned as he remembered. Given Tony's concerns —and long discussions— about extraterrestrial threats, it was really awkward he had let that slip his mind.
"Right," she echoed. "To answer your question better, she doesn't act like anything we've observed, or heard from Thor about his people, so I don't she is one of them. Also, from how he's talked about past battles with other races, there must be others out there who can give Asgardians a good enough fight to remember them. She could be from any number of races we haven't heard about." Then she gave a quick smile. "Don't worry, knowing about the threat levels of different cultures is more my department than yours."
Ruefully, Bruce nodded in agreement, wishing now that instead of trying to tease out the secrets of Asgardian technology, he had spent more time asking about what other alien races and worlds their friend had been to. Something like, 'Hey Thor, know any planets we should avoid?' And he would say, 'Oh sure, Banner. Whatever you do, avoid the one covered in junk. If you do find yourself there, the way to get home is oh could you pass me that beer?' And then he starts drinking. Right.
There had been some tentative plans to go visit Asgard, except they never got around to it. Thor had seemed especially reluctant —without saying why— after he had stopped that Dark Elf Invasion. Who had also appeared largely Human. Or at least no tentacles and six eyes.
Physically shaking himself, he got back on track, only to find a hand on his shoulder and Nat's concerned expression. "I keep trying to distract myself," he ruefully admitted.
"Understandable," she agreed. "What kind of stuff to distract yourself?"
"Oh, uh, just thinking about Thor, Asgard, and other stuff we know about them. And that Dark Elf Invasion." He was only barely conscious of his answer though, and he saw her transformation. Now all traces of self-doubt were gone from her eyes. Pushed away and made to disappear. Mentally making herself into the person who would get them both home, because that was who they both needed her to be.
Ah, so many saw her as only the ruthless, seductive spy who changed sides, failing to see all the other facets to her. Lethal yet kind. Enchanting then blunt. At ease in high-tech wars of espionage or against robots, yet most at home at a farm in the middle of nowhere.
Every layer you saw only hid another, more complex piece of her, and Bruce found himself irresistibly drawn in deeper. No matter the consequences.
-(Alien) Sun-
Bruce is acting weird again, thought Natasha.
She was used to men (and women) staring at her; although for those people, 'leering' would be a more accurate term. Some ladies would describe it as 'a piece of meat for them to enjoy,' while Natasha preferred 'as a prize to conquer.' Someone to enjoy as they saw fit, with the attraction only growing as she became publicly known as Black Widow. The ultimate thrill being to survive a night with her, because of course she would not do anything untoward to them.
If she were the type to give any thought towards those sorts of people, she might actually be disgusted by them.
That said, sometimes when they went too far at public events, they found a certain living legend with super-hearing firmly yet gently escorting them out for their behaviour. Or carrying them away by the scruff of their necks, like puppies who made a mess inside. Now that was entertainment! She even started to lure them in just to watch Steve do that.
There were exceptions of course, including those whose gaze just lingered briefly, and then got back to what they were doing. Men she could work closely with without issue, which she appreciated. Bruce Banner had been among that number.
Oh yes, when they had first met in that isolated shack, her beauty and charms were of no help. Except at the time he was in a high stress situation, and was too smart to let himself be seduced. Afterwards, however, it continued. His very absence of staring catching her attention. Even more so since she knew that his ex-fiancé had been a woman, so he did appreciate them.
Granted, that was hardly what had first seriously attracted her to him; it had merely been another little note in his 'pros' column. Unfortunately, while that tidbit had made her curious, at that same time their early relationship with each other had remained been pretty awkward for other reasons. Indeed, her initial assumption for his failure to look at her, was his lingering guilt over the whole 'the Hulk tried to kill you' issue. Out of respect for what she believed his motives were, she had not approached him in turn.
So why was he staring at her so intently now? Was it because they had just become a couple five minutes ago? Had that been a mistake?
Ruthless she quashed that fear down with all the others. "What?" she simply asked.
He grinned. "Whatever happens, I'm glad to know you're here to have my back."
Heart skipping a beat, she smiled and stroked his cheek. "A girl likes to hear that sort of thing," she silkily told him. "Just don't start distracting me now. You can do that once we finish the job."
With that, she picked up her gear. "Take whatever you can carry. We're going to have some prisoners to watch over soon, and we can't split up to double-back. Especially since we can't bring someone as fast and strong as her into somewhere so confined."
It was quite clear which one, despite having several potential prisoners to talk to, Natasha was both the most worried about, and most convinced would be valuable.
"Understood." Now he was all serious. "Give me the heaviest stuff, so you're not weighed down."
"Such a gentleman," she teased, even though they both knew it was because she needed to be the most agile, and he did not.
-(Alien) Sun-
They were as careful and professional about it as they could afford to be. The woman who had been the greatest threat was still unconscious, and the paralyzing disc she had thrown onto Natasha was now implanted into the original owner's throat. A jury-rigged wire and alarm would alert them if she woke up.
With that sorted, Black Widow decided it was best to start with the handful of survivors who had first attacked them. They were less dangerous, and given their inferior gear —some only sported rags and makeshift clubs— it was clear they were low on the food chain. Vulnerable.
Approximately (some had been blown to pieces to make it difficult) eighteen had attacked without provocation, and underneath their masks and rags, about twelve different humanoid, alien species were represented.
More proof of what a visionary Gene Roddenberry had been.
"I think they were all pretty hungry," Bruce queasily observed, looking over one corpse whose head had been shot up. "See how the bones stick out under the skin in all of them?"
"Yes," Black Widow agreed, memorizing the features of one species who appeared Human, except for light, grey skin, and a series of little bumps over his face.
Given the incredible variety of stuff they had, even the textures of their clothing felt alien, it was clear it had all been scavenged from a variety of sources. This meant it was hard to narrow down much about their personalities, aside from 'violent,' 'poor,' and 'probably desperate.' She found nothing of value besides their weapons, including crude knives, and what appeared to be rations.
After another twenty minutes of examining them all and their possessions, she turned her attention to the still-unconscious survivors. Of the remaining six, she chose one who seemed particularly hungry, and dragged him along out of sight behind the Quinjet. A booby trap was left with the rest. Bruce stood to the side, just out of the alien's vision, as she started with shaking the captives shoulder.
Nothing.
She slapped his face.
Nadda.
Her attempts to wake him became progressively –if calculatingly—violent, with no results. He would not wake up. Not even a skip of his heartbeat or breathing (which she presumed she was testing correctly). Apparently being hit by a shock baton, especially in his emancipated state, had been bad for his health.
She tried two more with similar results until she got one willing to talk.
It was gibberish.
"Askna uso bakran urk! Bakran urk! Bakran urk!" he shrieked.
(Maybe, a 'he,' given the masculine build, and neither she nor Bruce were willing to explore farther than taking off 'his' upper-body rags).
Lazily twirling a knife in one hand, Black Widow pleasantly asked, "Want to try that again?"
His only reaction was to continue screaming words she could not understand.
So she shocked him unconscious with a baton.
Clearly she had been too optimistic.
As an elite covert agent, she was trained to be fluent in Latin, Russian, English, French, German, Chinese, Italian, and various other languages, could pick up new ones quicker than most, and knew enough of a dozen others to get by. Unfortunately, they were all for Earth, and she had no experience at alien tongues, except for watching science-fiction films, usually with Stark chugging back a beer at every 'implausibility.'
Except that woman talked to us perfectly. Some kind of universal translator, like Thor was telling us about? Except she had seen no sign of one on any of these ones, only junk. They're different species, with presumably different languages, so how did they coordinate? Cooperate? Body language and violence would only serve them for so long and so far. Maybe it's by implants, and only some of them have one? Hopefully one of the others has one.
When Prisoner #5 woke up, he just stared at her in an unresponsive daze, and eventually she reluctantly concluded she had hit him too hard in the head. Contrary to popular media, hitting someone in the head did not just render them unconscious without any complications. It was by definition inflicting brain damage, and the consequences of that varied.
The final one woke up as she was dragging him over to be questioned. He only struggled against his binds briefly before settling down. Given his demeanor, Black Widow did not produce any weapons. Yet.
"I see," he said with visibly forced calm. "I am—"
"Don't care," she interrupted, hiding any reaction to him apparently talking English. "All you need to know is that I'm Widow." Given how they were trying to be discrete here, there was no need to leave people from another civilization aware of her full name/title. Especially since she wanted to leave no potential hints about the Avengers behind for any future threats to find. "Why'd you attack us?"
"The rule of this world," he responded as if it were obvious. "You are either a fighter, or you are food. As you are a stronger fighter, you are now in charge. You can either send me to fight within the city, or lead us in finding others who drop through the gateways."
Quick, but informative. A society where 'Might Makes Right' was apparently a generally accepted rule, with a penchant for violence. Possibly more organized within the city. They also preyed upon whoever came through the wormholes, and quite possibly literally ate them. He notably had said nothing about being 'food' himself.
"Who's in charge here?"
"You are," he promptly answered. Smart man. "If you mean the planet, they call him the Grandmaster. I think," he accidentally added, trying to hide his hesitation. He was a grunt and knew it, and was afraid that if he was not valuable enough he would be killed. Possibly even eaten.
Interesting name, except I'd better not push him on that just yet if he's so nervous. I need him coherent for now. A few more easy questions before I make him really sweat.
"Been doing this a long time?" Black Widow pleasantly inquired
"All my life," he shrugged, clearly confused as to why she cared.
Definitely engrained into the culture then, if he's any example. He doesn't even see what he's doing as wrong. Well, it's not the first time I've dealt with people 'uncivilized' like this.
Ruthless violence earned you respect in such places after all, and she was quite qualified at that.
"Alright," she smiled. "Wh—"
He leapt at her throat with suddenly longer fangs, and she stuck a knife in his throat on reflex, drawing it faster than he could react while turning her body so he flew right by her.
As he was still twitching, she shot him with her pistol. Perhaps wasteful, except she had a limited number of taser discs, and while a knife wound like that (should) kill him eventually anyways, she was unsure of how long that would take with his inhuman body. Plus, unlike her Earthly gun, she did not know how many shots each scavenged blaster rifle had, so could not guarantee they would actually fire.
Taking a deep breath, she waited a minute before retrieving her knife, and wiped herself down. Her cat-suit was now stained with yellowish blood that looked like bile, and after rolling around, her arms and legs were further coated with what she could only hope was dirt.
"I'm sorry you had to see that," she softly apologized to Bruce, who had quietly kept back as she handled her job.
"Don't be," he reassured her, even if he still looked a bit sick. "I don't like it, but he attacked you when we were trying to work with him. He made his own choice, Nat, and you only defended yourself. That's it."
"Right," she breathed out. "Let's go try the last one."
-(Alien) Sun-
A minute later they were making their way to the alien ship, and their final attempted captor still lying unconscious beside it. The alien capture disc was still on their captive's throat, with Natasha keeping the remote up her sleeve so it was both concealed and readily accessible.
Despite the savage beating Hulk had inflicted, the woman was still alive and breathing steadily, albeit with nasty bruises over her face, and some broken bones.
Leaving her new Partner —maybe not as good as Clint at fieldwork, but she had known even before this that she could always trust him with her back—outside to keep watch, Natasha took a quick look inside the craft.
Like the woman itself, it was ill-used and ill-maintained. Obvious rush-job repairs, empty bottles cluttering up the floor worse than even Stark could ever manage, and possibly literally decades since it had last been cleaned. Certainly there was enough dust and grime to make that impression. Overall, this ship belonged to someone in a dangerous line of business who did not take care of their gear, and was clearly heavily addicted to whatever the local equivalent of alcohol was. While she had seen such disregard in mercenaries and slavers before, that sort of disregard was usually from rank incompetence and arrogance. No, this reminded her more of operatives and soldiers who were burnt out, yet continued on because they knew nothing else in life. Had nothing else. For all that she was dealing with an alien, intuitively Black Widow knew she was dealing with something similar, yet also missing some key points. For one, despite how she had never seen a case so pervasive, their captive was somehow still alive. Plus that sort of talent made her think she was dealing with a former elite operative or soldier.
Well, regardless, whoever their new prisoner was, the clues and facts were adding up that she had serious issues. Possibly residual trauma, which she could be helped through to become a better person.
Too bad.
Right now they were only more psychological vulnerabilities for Black Widow to exploit. It was still up in air how hard they would be pushed.
She and Bruce needed to get home.
Maybe they would take her with them, if not for how this woman had attacked them without provocation, and with unknown intentions. She could be an asset with her skills and knowledge of the planet and hierarchy, except there was nothing to prove she wouldn't attack them again.
They needed to know more about her before making a decision.
Time to get into character.
As much as she hated it, feeling her fists tighten in rage.
She had been honest when she had planned on retiring with Bruce.
Even she could see when she was caught in an unhealthy pattern, and decided maybe it really was time to step back from being either an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., or an Avenger. Not just because of Ultron; her concerns included all the death she had set in motion in revealing HYDRA. Perhaps it was time to become a civilian, and find another way to clean out all the 'red in her ledger' by doing something nonviolent, while a peaceful life. Alongside Bruce.
Unfortunately, it appeared that karma had a nasty sense of humour, and was not done with her yet, by getting her stuck on an ALIEN PLANET.
. . . One where people were already trying to kill and/or enslave her. Oh, or eat her.
At least she was with Bruce.
There was that.
So, assess any potential threat to Earth, and get home.
Maybe drag Bruce into a cabin on the Helicarrier, bolt the door with a sign outside reading 'Trespassers Will Never Be Heard From Again,' shower off their filth (cold water or not this time), and the two of them could just lay down to sleep. Ah, blissful sleep, no matter how much Stark might taunt them over it.
. . . When was the last time I slept again? Ugh, doesn't matter.
-(Alien) Sun-
With a jolt of pain, Scrapper 142 came awake, springing into action to return the favour to whomever might be around her.
With another jolt, she went limp, recognizing the agonizing, paralyzing sensation of an Obedience Disc. She had worn one herself before she earned her freedom. Well, by 'earned,' she really meant 'ripped off the arm of the one holding the remote on her, and then done entertaining things with both it and the disk to her supposed-owner,' but same difference.
That display had so amused the Grandmaster as he watched, that he had applauded, and approved of her emancipation. As opposed to conceding she had just taken it for herself, and become an enemy of the state. No stranger to the whims and subtle darkness of monarchs and other breeds of absolute dictators, and not wanting to ruin what seemed like her best and only chance to disappear into oblivion, she had promptly bent her knee and abased herself before him.
Thus the beginning of a beautiful relationship between the two of them.
Or a relationship at least.
Frankly she did not care about him one way or another outside of booze money and fun, and she was pretty sure he felt the same. The oh-so-benevolent Grandmaster only cared about people to the extent they entertained him to some degree, while their own feelings meaning nothing to the ancient being. She was just a little more amusing than most.
Right now though, she was registering aches and pains that reminded her of the furious battle she had just fought and lost. Even with her accelerated healing factor, it would take a while to fully recover.
"Ah, so you're awake."
Craning her neck while still lying on the ground, Scrapper 142 saw the redheaded woman she recognized as memories flooded back. The smart —too smart— lady was safely ten meters away. The man standing even further back, off to the side.
"Can you understand me?"
Scrapper 142 said nothing, however, the alien continued regardless.
"Ah, good to see you do."
Reading micro-expressions? Or my emotions directly?
"You can call me Widow."
"Alright," she answered, if only to move this along.
"What is this world?"
"Oh, didn't I mention when we first met? Welcome to Sakaar, junkyard of the universe. The edge of the known and unknown, and collection point for all the trash there is."
"Collection point. You mean all those wormholes." Even with those statements, Red's —or rather, Widow's— expression remained unreadable. Once Scrapper 142 might have been able to decipher it, if not for how right now she was still shaken up, and was out of practice because frankly she had not cared about reading the fine details about people for centuries. Or millennia possibly. Apparently time worked weird here after all, and she had never bothered keeping track beyond what happened between one full bottle and the next. Why should she? If people wanted to cause her trouble, or were acting weird, she just killed them when they did something big enough for her to notice.
Whatever else you could say about the Grandmaster, he was at least open and sincere about what he wanted. In fact, he was so honest about it that sometimes people did not take him seriously enough, thinking he was just kidding around. By then it was generally too late for them.
"Obviously," she sneered, and was faintly surprised she not shocked as a punishment for that. Soft hearted? Possibly. Still best to play it cautiously.
"Why did you attack us?"
With a theatrical sigh, she explained. "The Grandmaster, who's the head honcho here, loves his little Contest of Champions. It's his greatest joy really. He needs strong fighters for it, and after you beat up those other Scrappers, I knew I could sell you to him for a nice sum. Oh, that's the term for those of us who capture newcomers, or salvage useful tech. Scrapper 142's the name, since you asked."
Which they had not. A transparent atempt to make her insecure.
"Anyways, like I said, I thought you'd be a good attraction," she repeated without a care. "And what do you know, but your boytoy," no reaction, "proved even better. Oh well."
"So you just work for the Grandmaster because he supplies you with alcohol and kicks," Widow shrewdly noted.
Fun fact about Sakaar: it was one of the few places capable of brewing drinks potent enough to get around her healing factor, and give her a buzz.
"It's a living," shrugged Scrapper 142. "Until it kills me of course."
There, she all but flat out told them that she was willing to bargain, and threatening to kill her would not get them anywhere. While she was not fully suicidal, she was also not afraid of dying. Should make the rest of the 'negotiations,' —for why else was she waking up?— smoother and less painful.
The sooner this was over with the better. She was going to ache for days as it was.
However, despite all her genuine apathy, an old part of Scrapper 142 was intrigued as she finally recognized these people.
Her people's natural talent for languages had greatly contributed to the peace that Asgard had forged for the Nine Realms (along with a martial prowess they were enthusiastic to direct against anyone they deemed 'disruptive' towards said 'peace'). Knowing the benefits of open communication, Odin (may he choke on his precious beard) had devised a policy as part of their decades-long education, where Asgardian children were to also learn various alien languages. Indeed, once you had learned how to fluently speak several dozen different tongues, including Groot (which was overrated in her humble opinion), it became rather easy to decipher brand new ones. Indeed, Scrapper 142 had continued to do so during her years on Sakaar. Especially ever since her last universal translator broke, and decided she did not need another one, since fighting and capturing people, and ordering booze, were pretty much universal as it got. Besides, she had better uses for her Units.
Which was why it had taken so long for her to recognize which language these newcomers were using.
Or rather, that it was of the Nine Realms. Specifically Midgard.
Granted, time flowed differently on Sakaar, yet given their appearance (clean skin, healthy teeth, and decent clothes to name a few things) it had been a few thousand years for them, and sounded like an amalgamation of several of their silly little languages, followed by millennia drift in how they spoke, as said tongues changed and evolved. All of which she could decipher so flawlessly and reflexively that it had actually taken her this long to truly process and identify it.
Yeah, being an Asgardian could be pretty awesome.
Well, well, they're coming into their place in the universe. Surprised Odin hasn't already slapped them down. Or is this part of his whole new 'peaceful' image? Doubt it would last long if people like these asked to come visit Asgard though. Especially these ones, given how filthy they are right now.
With a mental grimace, she brushed that all aside. She was on Sakaar to forget. Obviously the beating and subsequent shocks had rattled her brain around too much. Equally obvious, she needed a drink. Or four.
"And the Grandmaster stays in power because he's got these little torture discs?" Widow went on.
"They're called Obedience Discs, and yeah, pretty much. Mind you, the Discs've got a lot of safeguards. Honestly surprised you beat yours. . ." Unfortunately, there was no volunteering on how Widow pulled that off. Pity, information like that could be valuable. "Oh, and an army."
The Midgardian pointed in the direction of Sakaar, the capital city of Sakaar (yes, very original). "Is that where the Grandmaster lives?"
"That's where everyone lives really. You can live out in the trash if you really want to, it's just pretty bad for your health. Bit safer in the city."
"Only a bit safer because there's still violence in the city, and the chance of being taken as a slave by those in charge is alright?"
"Of course," said Scrapper 142 with a grin that failed to reach her eyes.
"And it's a multi-species city, made up of people from all over the universe?"
"The Grandmaster likes to call this place their new home, the collection point for the lost and unloved. Which is just his way of trying to be nice about calling us all trash."
No reaction to that.
She found herself volunteering details now just to try and get a response.
She was also irritated to find herself parroting propaganda now. Clearly she had heard that introductory speech a few too many times.
"This . . . Contest of Champions," her interrogator suddenly mused. "I'm guessing it's pretty popular? Watch a bloody spectacle to whip people up so they'll ignore everything else that's going on? And lots of free booze to make them drink away how awful their lives are?"
Despite herself, the Asgardian was impressed. While using state-sponsored violence and showmanship, along with access to chemical anti-depressants to distract people from their issues, was an old trick, most still missed it. She recognized it of course, and even embraced it as another reason to live out the rest of her life here. This newcomer however, had figured it out from only a few questions. Not bad. Not bad at all . . . Almost entertaining after years of the same thing over and over.
Scrapper 142 shifted on the ground a bit to raise herself and her breasts up, and gave a sultry look. "So, I'm guessing you'll be wanting to get home, and want me to tell you how? What're you offering to make it worth my while?" Because Widow looked like she might be fun, and maybe her boyfriend, dad, pet, or even son (she had seen weirder) would be interesting. Definitely the green one was, and he clearly was in need of an alternative and more constructive means of stress relief.
"Your life," Widow flatly answered. "Because while you might die out of spite, something's keeping you alive." Then she crouched down, cupping her chin in her hand. "Guilt, maybe? That you're alive, and others aren't?"
"Nope," popped Scrapper 142, except her voice was strained now. She did not feel guilty about surviving!
"Really?" Widow asked with clear disbelief. "Well, right now you're still enjoying yourself too much to want to end it lying in trash, paralyzed by your own Obedience Disc, waiting to find out who or what'll finish you." Her face became a little friendlier. "Or you can see us on our way. We'll even find something to thank you for your efforts. Maybe, if you want, you'll even like it back home."
Chuckling, Scrapper 142 shook her head in amusement. Not just at the threat (they were not stupid enough leave her alive and at their back, so they would just kill her here), but also the 'generous' offer. "Not unless your people —wherever you come from— let me hunt and fight and drink as I see fit. As for getting there, just fly your ship through any of the wormholes, and it'll take you somewhere else. If I were you, I'd try and lock onto Xandar, refuel and get directions from there, and that'll do it for you. Might take you a year or so, except that's not my problem."
"Unacceptable. Clearly we need an expert opinion."
Shrugging as best as she could, Scrapper 142 smirked. "The Grandmaster doesn't like the idea of people leaving, and discourages it. You won't find anyone else who'll say otherwise."
"Oh, I'm not so sure." Now there was a look of triumph in Widow's face that was unsettling. "If you can fly off anytime you want, that the Grandmaster trusted you with a ship, it means you're someone fairly important here. So not only are you not someone who'd pay attention to news like that in the first place, people who do want to leave wouldn't talk to you about this. So I can't call you a reliable source about that."
"So where does this leave us then?" she asked, carefully keeping her voice level. She was unfortunately forced to concede the Midgardian had a point. She was a trusted enforcer, with all that entailed, including how the Grandmaster knew that leaving was the last thing his 'best' lady wanted to do.
"Why don't we take a trip to the city, and work from there to find out more about these wormholes," Widow offered, holding out the remote in her hand. "Play straight with us, and we'll let you go. Yes you attacked us, but that's a daily hazard for us. Besides, frankly it seems that's how life works here, giving you only two choices: die, or live however you can manage. We get that, so we aren't taking it personally."
Suddenly the redhead smiled. "Who knows, we may even become friends before this is over, and we can help each other out even more."
"Who knows?" Scrapper 142 lightly agreed. Becoming friends was not going to happen though. She had learnt the hard way where 'friendship' led. All in all, for not killing her when they had the chance, despite how they could have found another guide, she probably owed them as much as she did the Grandmaster.
That was not to say she would not betray them —these two, or the Grandmaster— as soon as it suited her.
Scrapper 142 had no use for 'relationships,' 'duty,' and especially not 'loyalty.'
She had pledged it once in that other life. Upon her sword, her long life, and immortal soul.
Willingly and freely before the Throne of Asgard . . .
Before King Odin, who would later sacrifice her and all her sisters to their graves in a senseless battle, because he had come to fear the monster whose bloodlust and talent for death he had once pampered and indulged, until it was the only thing to give her meaning.
A monster who had once proudly stood beside that very throne, and led his armies into battle:
Hela.
The King's firstborn, and Goddess of Death. The future queen of Asgard, to whom all of its warriors had sworn to serve in turn, bound by oaths of loyalty that were to last for millennia even after Odin finally croaked.
When Hela's lust for violence became too much, Scrapper 142 and each and every one of her sisters, and her love , had been sent to drive her back into her prison and they had been massacred. It was only after their senseless, useless deaths that Odin risked doing it himself.
And which of the Nine Realms did they die upon?
Niflheim.
The Ream that Asgardians were taught was the home of the dead who are neither honored nor dishonored. Where, if there even was an afterlife, all those who died there were denied Valhalla, where the brave shall live forever. In life or death, she would never see the Valkyries again!
Hence why she was content to die drunk in a ditch; maybe that would let her join them again.
No.
No more loyalty.
The past was the past, and she would have no part of it ever again.
She would only work for whoever guaranteed her more booze, so she could drink until she died, and went to whatever part of the afterlife was still open for her. As for these people, the newest in a line who wanted her to obey like a dog, she bet they did not even have a drop on them.
~~To Be Continued…~~
Author Notes:
I must confess that I have been greatly helped by "To intervene," by apathyinreverie. While I do not agree with the premise of it, it does indeed given an excellent layout of the various issues within the Avengers that would have to be addressed to form a fully functioning team. Very recommended as well for anyone planning to touch upon the whole Civil War plotline, especially for a viable Sokovian Accords, if only to get your own ideas sparking.
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Natasha's reasoning to retire will be explored in greater depth in a chapter or two.
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I am freely open to suggestion regarding who else might be found on Sakaar. And do not forget, the planet's weird relationship with time aside, Hulk was fighting in the Contest of Champions for two years before Thor showed up, so who knows who could be found there…
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Next Chapter: 'The Most Wretched Hive of Scum and Villainy'
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Recommended fics:
"Shall We Feast Eternal?" by Drag0nst0rm
"Build My Rage," by MasterQwertster
"What Was Once Lost," by Bobbie23
"Burnt Stars," by thefifthchris
"Spies and Scientists," by Bobbie23
"To intervene," by apathyinreverie
"We'll Make It Through, Together," by waitisthataship
"When Push Comes To Chevre," by copperbadge (on AO3)
"five times Tony Stark wasn't a perfect person," by psychicchameleon
"Reunion," by NeverMessWithTeddyBears
"Finding Your Place," by Aello-ello
"Captainball!" by Pixelfun20
"From the Ashes," by Bobbie23
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Please Review, and I will get back to you!