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Rest in Peace,
Stan Lee.
December 28, 1922 – November 12, 2018
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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 (please choose name/nickname next time ^^)
Beta Ray Bill was one of my thoughts too, except he is down as one of the previous (and deceased) Champions. Got his head on the side of the Grandmaster's tower even.
Stakar is a possibility, but I feel that a Ravager captain of his prestige would have already broken out to cause trouble. Or been killed off for trying it. Will be an important reference to him later in this chapter though.
Given Venom, I think I will leave out the Symbiotes for this. They will have their appearances though most likely still. Also apparently he is part of a separate Marvel universe, like the X-men.
Hmm, Shi'ar Royal Imperium Guards I am not too familiar with, but definitely possible . . .
Thanks for the Suggestions, 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 que eu fiz o Brutasha linda!
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
Glad to hear how well I am doing the characters, really made my day when I got this review :-)
Thank you for your review and support! :-D
Here is the newest chapter where they do indeed venture into the city, 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 4: The Most Wretched Hive of Scum and Villainy
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Previously: After learning more details about Sakaar from her prisoners, Natasha successfully coerces Scrapper 142 into helping them, via the attempted slaver's own Obedience Disk. However she and Bruce are unaware they are dealing with an Asgardian, even if they already know that said ex-Valkyrie has no loyalty to them.
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Sakaar
Bruce and Black Widow were all set to daringly head off to the capital of planet Sakaar.
As stressed and impatient as they were, and in grave peril, there was no denying the thrill of exploring their first alien city.
Unfortunately, they could not just pop over as they wished.
First, they had to sort through all the trash in their newly acquired (hijacked) space ship, and chuck out everything not useful. The next problem was how Black Widow absolutely refused to let the ship's former owner, and their prisoner, Scrapper 142, be the one to handle to controls. After all, the alien woman could use her familiarity with it to pull some sort of trick.
Fortunately the craft was similar enough to a Quinjet, that Bruce easily figured out how to fly it himself.
Before flying off, the rest of their captives had been left behind at the crash-site, untied and able to fend for themselves as best they could. Given the limited resources available to the two Avengers, freedom was the best compromise between mercy and expediency they could offer them.
With that out of the way, they were flying towards the city now.
Beneath the flight deck was Scrapper 142's cell for prisoners to sell, separated from the main ship by some sort of transparent material tougher than steel. A perfect way to keep an eye on someone, while emphasizing your dominance over them. Especially since otherwise the Avengers would be in tight confines with a super-strong, super-fast warrior. Nonetheless, Black Widow did not force Scrapper 142 into the holding bay, or knock her out with the Obedience Disc, and instead let her be on the flight deck with her and Bruce. She knew the other two were surprised, and indeed it had not been her original plan, yet after further considering what she had learnt about their captive's psychological state, she figured this, and had the best chance of avoiding—or at least reducing— future conflicts.
She's only cooperating because it's the path of least resistance, Black Widow knew. Keeping her on a tight leash will only push her to lash out sooner, and next time we won't get so lucky. Especially since we can't rely on the Big Guy to always bail us out in time. It's a calculated risk as she might decide to attack us anyways, because she thinks we're too soft. So it's a fine balance between showing how tough we can really be, while also being generous and merciful enough to make her play along.
We're not playing by the rule-book she's used to, so she's off-balance. Keep her so confused for the flight, she should be safely passive for this part. While it's not going to win us her gratitude or loyalty, it only has to keep her compliant long enough for us to find people we can actually trust a bit.
Besides, while mind-games cannot last forever, treating someone that dangerous like a wild animal will only inevitably backfire. As Hulk would attest.
That was not to say the female Avenger's thumb ever left the activation switch of the remote for the Obedience Disc planted in Scrapper 142's neck. The slightest move, and there would be a world of pain for the alien, and everyone knew it.
So the super-alien was leaning casually against the side of the ship, arms crossed and watching them, while Bruce sat between the two ladies. He was obviously ecstatic at the novelty of piloting a spaceship for the first time, constantly murmuring how "extraordinary" the experience was. With that and the concentration necessary to safely fly, it ensured he was too wrapped up in his job to be distracted by how they were currently stranded on an alien world, as they passed over mound after endless mound of trash, while even more of it kept falling from the sky. A sky full of wormholes.
Truthfully, Black Widow knew that if not for her presence, or maybe that of another Avenger, Bruce would have already Hulked-out from the stress of it all.
She immediately caught the moment when the entirety of their situation tried to shove its way back to the front of his mind. Not enough to overwhelm him, yet still enough to fill him with doubts on what they are supposed to do. Deftly she reached out to give his shoulder a single squeeze, saying I am here. His eyes glanced at hers to show his gratitude as his confidence returned, and he resumed his task.
Good, it worked.
Which was fortunate, as even with the Barton clan she was still not entirely comfortable with genuine displays of affection. Learning how and when exactly to display them, without falling back on her seduction techniques.
Complicating the situation was how Black Widow was simultaneously working her hardest to compartmentalize any other emotions or feelings that may prove distracting on this mission.
Not the first time I've been in unfamiliar territory, without an extraction plan. Can have fun later comparing this to Budapest with Clint.
Seeing they were only minutes away from the city, she repeated aloud what she and Bruce had already agreed on. "Remember, we're just going to settle down on the outskirts."
"My ship will be stripped and stolen in minutes," Scrapper 142 flatly reminded them.
While not resorting to physical force, Black Widow still kept her voice quiet but deadly when addressing the other woman. "We're still not going to land in any official hangers, or anywhere where you're familiar with the staff and can warn them. Especially since the only hangers allowed for ships are the ones controlled by this Grandmaster of yours."
Scrapper 142 shrugged, and then gave a slight wince as she was still injured. Her face was still puffy, with Band-Aids from their First Aid kit for various cuts on it, and was wearing a splint and shoulder wrap on her left arm. In fact, it was a miracle she could even stand after the beating Hulk had given her. Probably a pride thing. Hopefully it was only ego.
She took another quick assessment, and by sheer will, the master assassin's face remained impassive as she then processed that the bruises around the alien's face were starting to fade from what they had been before taking off. Her healing factor is incredible! While she's definitely still hurt, I'd say she's recovering even faster than Steve! Alright, so we can't count on her internal injuries to slow her down either. Good to know.
Recovering herself, Scrapper 142 sullenly said, "I'll need to disguise myself a bit then. I don't want the Grandmaster thinking I've betrayed him, otherwise I'm dead either way, and I'll lose a lot of business."
Well, that's unfortunate, Black Widow thought to herself. It confirmed her concerns about this Grandmaster. Clearly, whoever he was enough to intimidate an alien that could go toe-to-toe with the Hulk.
-(Alien) Sun-
Sakaar City
The Grandmaster Palace
"Whoo! Let's have some fun!" squealed an effeminate man in rich robes of red, green, and gold. He played a few more tunes out of his musical keyboard as everyone partied around him, having fun.
As they should.
The Grandmaster was all about having a good time.
Today he was experimenting with green face-paint and nail-polish again for the first time in centuries. Albeit a brighter green then when he had done it last. He appeared like any one of hundreds of humanoid species, with tan skin, and rich, perfectly styled grey hair.
Around him his beloved subjects danced and laughed away at his most recent party, keeping them from focusing on any unpleasantness. Like how he had had that one family put to death for some reason or other.
(He could not remember the details, just that he was right to do so.)
And hey, this party was for him too! He would miss them just as much as everybody else, if not more! Why those two (he assumed they had been husband and wife or whatever) had been wild in threesomes! Or foursomes. Fivesomes. Truthfully he only started to find the orgies a little silly when you had ten people all intertwined at once. Seriously people, that is when you start to split up into smaller groups! Honestly, why did he even have to explain this?
Anyways, it was sad they were gone, so now they were all having a party to feel better and forget about them.
(True, the armed and armoured guards scattered around the room might be a depressing reminder for a few, except he always had his guards around, so they should be used to it. Unless said sentries were the type to get off on watching them have sex or something. Otherwise, just ignore them. In fact, why was he even worrying about that?)
The things he did to help lesser life-forms. In fact, for being such a Good Samaritan, he should buy himself something nice as a reward!
"Topaz," he said to Topaz, his loyal bodyguard and top aid these last few millennia, "I should do something nice for myself. Any ideas?"
The heavyset, heavily armoured woman promptly said, "There's that new movie depicting your heroism in founding Sakaar, that you were waiting to see. We can get the early release today, and have the actors come over to celebrate with you."
"Capital idea!" he clapped with glee. "Just what I wanted to hear."
He tapped his chin in thought. "Alright, so I'll party for another hour or two, relax from the strain for another hour," really both he and Topaz knew he would be reviewing any reports from his intelligence agents ('spies' was such a callous word), but why talk about such stuff here, "and then they can come over."
"Very good sir."
"Oh, and let Scrapper 142 know what we're doing when she gets back. I'm sure she'd love to come along and throw in her own thoughts about the scenes where I fight off the evil hordes!"
While Topaz did not even twitch, he knew that irritated her a bit. The two robust ladies had clashed from the beginning. Oh well, he figured after a few more centuries they would warm up to each other.
Feeling even better about himself, the Grandmaster waded his way amongst his subjects to dance with them himself.
-(Alien) Sun-
Outskirts of Sakaar City
"I'm going to guess the Grandmaster lives there," Black Widow deadpanned, with a nod at the skyscraper towering over the others. From what she was seeing, she was surprised the man's ego had settled for calling both a planet and the capital city by the same name, as opposed to Planet Sakaar, and its capital 'Grandmaster-ville;' or something equally pretentious.
Bruce blinked in surprise at the sight of the structure that rose at least hundreds of meters above anything else in the city. Near the top, it looked like there were giant head sculptures sticking out of it. "And people accuse Tony being arrogant," he said with a grin.
"He is. Except Pepper wouldn't let him do something like that," she grinned a little, glad he was able to find some humour in all this.
Scrapper 142 just rolled her eyes at the banter, and tried to ignore the duo. It was almost embarrassing that she had lost-*cough* conceded a fight to Big Green and Red.
To distract herself, she checked her reflection in a convenient piece of blemish-free metal, and confirmed that her new red and yellow face-paint was sufficient to make her not totally recognizable. All three of them were also wearing items called 'sunglasses,' and 'baseball caps.'
In all honesty she thought the latter moronic, and the former pretty cool.
Not that it made up for how increasingly loathsome this whole mess was. She was playing tour guide for two Midgardians who had stumbled upon an alien planet (she doubted the rest of their race had so much as achieved basic interstellar travel), and was under increasing pressure as she tried to figure a way out of this mess.
Unfortunately, her usual tactics would not work as the duo carefully kept Bruce (and his hidden, muscular, green side) near her, while Widow stayed just out of the way with her finger still on the trigger for Scrapper 142's personal Obedience Disc.
('Widow' was obviously a pseudonym, and she heard Bruce calling her 'Natasha' or something.)
The longer this took, the greater the likelihood the Grandmaster would get impatient, wondering where she was. Moreover, if he found out she had been captured by newcomers, she might even end up tossed into the Contest of Champions.
She was under no delusions about two things:
1) If she fought the current Champion, she would die.
2) If she tried to oppose or even kill the Grandmaster, she would die painfully. She had seen it happen too many times.
Worst of all, she had no booze!
(Which was a reasonable thing to die by, unlike the other ways she had just contemplated. Sooner or later, her liver would give out.)
Utterly insufferable, Widow had left behind any drinks from her stash, spouting some nonsense about her using the bottles as weapons, which, while accurate, was still unacceptable! What was she supposed to do!?
Grimacing at having to actually think for once in umpteen centuries (or millennia, time worked weird here after all), Scrapper 142 tried to figure out a plan of action.
-(Alien) Sun-
Bruce could only look around in wonderment as he drank in the sights before him. A civilization that was simultaneously old, yet more advanced than anything on Earth.
To be discrete, they had landed a few kilometers away from the city itself, hiding behind a particularly tall pile of junk. In preparation, he was 'scouting' with what were essentially hyper-advanced binoculars from the Warsong. Truthfully it was more like 'ogling at all the lovely, lovely science,' as he took in details of the city through the lens with crystal-clear clarity.
Each building was made of an assortment of scrap metals, leading to a melding of different designs. From what he could make out, the ones at the center of the city tended to be painted in brighter colours, with the entire structure painted the same shade. The closer one got to the edges of the capital however, the colours were more varied, as the homes and businesses were put together by a variety of materials from multiple sources, which retained their original hues.
The fact that basically everything was made of metal was also surprisingly fascinating, as it indicated that while this was literally a planet of junk, it also meant that the quality of it all was high enough to provide for sturdy shelters. Unless that's necessary to survive the social violence hinted at here, he thought with a touch of gloominess, before returning to wide-eyed curiosity.
Everything welded, riveted, and in once case even tied together, all to make homes and little market stalls for people to live in and work from. From bitter experience he knew that the people living on the outskirts always had it rougher, so he figured it was more obvious here. Although he was also willing to bet that overall, everyone lived to varying degree on whatever artifacts came out of the wormholes, as opposed to whatever they made themselves. An entire civilization that was able to adapt the technology and resources salvaged from across the universe? Staggering!
Indeed, he was already picking up what looked like breathing masks and some other pieces of equipment he assumed were for species whom had not evolved for quite this type of oxygen-rich atmosphere. Life finding a way!
(He and Natasha were incredibly lucky this planet was suited for them too, like breathable air. He had even taken the time to experiment by dropping a rock a few times while doing mental calculations, and determined the gravity was only slightly lower than it was on Earth.)
Hmm, and all those other little goodies, he thought, feeling twenty —No thirty!— years younger, as he drank in the sight of more and more items and gadgets that looked easily decades more advanced than anything back home. Especially since not only were they obviously everyday items given how casually they were being treated, they also showed marked signs of wear and tear, and jury-rigged field repairs.
It was all junk that surpassed the best Humanity had to offer.
For now. I know I shouldn't get involved in any mad science again, but there couldn't be any harm in Tony and I making better life support gear or something, right? Or maybe— He stopped as reality caught up to him. Of course, that's assuming I ever see him again . . .
He shook off that thought with long practice, focusing on the positives.
For as horrifyingly stressful as this whole place was (an alien world and all that jazz), the fact remained that this place was also a gold mine. Endless possibilities!
Dimly Bruce knew that if he had been alone he would have been overwhelmed by all this and the Hulk would be on the loose. Possibly in an endless loop if every time he was back in control he started stressing up all over again—especially at being stranded here forever. It'd be an endless cycle.
With Natasha along though, helping him believe this was all only temporary, he was able to safely remain as Bruce Banner.
With that reassurance in mind, he let his imagination expand to properly process everything he was taking in.
Something clicked in his head. "Hey, Scrapper?" Goodness, he hated calling her that. It was not even a name, just a designation. He swung around to look at her with the binoculars still on, and her enlarged head winked at him through the lens, making him balk and drop what he was holding. He stammered a little before she got impatient.
"What?" she said with a mixture of emotions, and he straightened up and looked at her in concern. For all that she had done to them, and attempted to do, he still felt guilty for forcing her to put herself at risk by sneaking around the government. She only glared harder at his expression.
Coughing, he said what he originally meant to say. "If we double back to your ship, could we fix the autopilot to send it around the planet? I mean, you must have one if ships are so valuable here. That way it'll be mobile, so harder to steal, and you can probably set it to avoid any debris. Would that be better?"
Now she just looked confused for a few seconds, before giving a grudging nod. "Sure," she muttered, before doubling-back. It took about two minutes to set it up, and then Warsong flew off away from the city. They had timed it so it would return at a slow pace in a week.
Not that Scrapper thanked them or anything.
"Starting to get into the flow of things, Doc?" Natasha said with an actual smile.
"Huh? Oh yeah. This place is just amazing. Hopefully we can take some of it back to Earth with us. Who knows what kind of advances we could uncover?" With a slight grimace, he cut himself off indulging his inner Mad Scientist too much. Despite what Tony said, he needed to step back and self-reflect on it again. Maybe even give up science for good. I'll talk to Natasha about it, once we're outta here, he decided. He trusted her judgment with that.
He knew Natasha noted his sudden dark mood, and given their earlier conversation about Ultron (back when their only concerns were genocidal robots and figuring out their relationship), doubtless she knew what he was upset about. Fortunately they both knew that now was not the time. So instead she joked, "Does that mean I can get a lightsaber or two here?"
While he knew what she was doing, the geek in him was still hooked. "Do you!?" Bruce excitedly asked Scrapper, who backed away from him with a disturbed expression.
"A what?" she carefully asked.
"A what?" she carefully asked.
"Oh, ah, it's a bit of pop culture back home. Uhm, a sword made of stabilized plasma. Basically, a blade that is a laser of a fixed length."
Scrapper just gave a condescending grin while shaking her head. "Nope, and never will be. People keep trying, but the physics just don't work. Sure, there are some types of energy blades, but those're mostly fancy forcefield tricks; not really reliable for anything except short missions either, given the power costs. Metal blades with molecular edges are far more practical. Even then, they're only useful if you've got the speed, strength, and reflexes to truly use one. Otherwise, just stick to guns."
Doctor Bruce Banner, one of the most respected scientists in the world, did his best not to pout.
(It was only through sheer force of will that Natasha did not do the same. Clint had corrupted her into becoming a secret fan of the Original Trilogy after all. Plus, one of those would be unspeakably handy.)
Following the death of that childhood dream, they slipped into the city proper now, and started walking down the street. Bruce and Black Widow acting calm and discrete, while Scrapper 142 maintained her catlike grace.
For the Terrans, they were all-but assaulted by the variety of alien species and appearances. Fortunately, it seemed like there would be no trouble blending in amongst such a diverse crowd.
Unfortunately, all they could hear was gibberish, unable to understand all the diverse, alien languages.
Thankfully, this was not totally unexpected.
Back when things had settled down for the Avengers after the Battle of New York, Stark broached a topic that had been bugging him: how Thor and Loki were able to speak perfect English.
The short version was, Asgardians learnt so many different alien languages that they were able to figure out how to speak brand new ones at an obscenely fast pace. Past exposure to Earth's dialects centuries ago only made it easier.
Races that did not have such long lifespans, or similar advantages, relied upon universal translators, which was a major business in space. After all, for good or ill, people had to be able to communicate with each other. Thor had even told a story he had heard of, where due to a technical glitch, when one alien party had asked for some food, the words the others heard was that the newcomers were offering their dead uncle for an orgy and feast.
Stark had been as amused as Steve and Bruce were unnerved. Personally, Natasha and Clint had been wondering just how alien the people in the story would have to be for that sort of misunderstanding to occur. Would their own psychological tricks even work past a certain level of predisposed violence? Clearly, they would have to up their game.
No doubt Scrapper had many of those translator implants, which was why they could understand one another. Not that it did Bruce and Natasha any good. Especially if they had to split up later. Clearly, they needed to get some of their own.
"How does currency work here?" Bruce asked, glancing at the various shoppers, noting how they all seemed to be buying stuff without taking out anything resembling money. Yet the way shopkeepers were hunched over their stalls . . . "Electronic? Everyone has miniature computers to tally their accounts and pay automatically?"
"Yes," huffed their unimpressed 'guide.' "The currency is in Units."
"How do we get some? Preferably without being sold into slavery." The Other Guy would voice their mutual objections to that . . . and for all that this place was made out of supposedly advanced materials, he was not willing to gamble with the lives of the people here by unleashing it on them. It was not their fault that they were forced to live in such an oppressive, violent place. They had not done anything to him and Natasha.
Snorting, Scrapper 142 just shook her head. "You don't. You don't have any other value to trade with besides your weapons. Although," she tapped her chin in thought. "You two could probably do alright in the small-time fighting rings."
"Thaaat sounds like a horrible idea. No, just no," Bruce uneasily said.
"Especially since the Grandmaster's probably got agents watching them, to keep an eye out for any potential contenders," added Black Widow with a knowing look at Scrapper 142, who was unrepentant.
Bruce winced at how he had failed to catch that. Getting back on track, he noted, "Either way, we need a way to talk to people first."
"I guess I'll have to steal two translators then," Black Widow calmly said. Given how badly Scrapper 142 appeared addicted to alcohol, it was probably best not to force her to part from some of her cash just yet. Plus, given her status, it was entirely possible her transactions were monitored. At the very least, her training screamed at her to not leave a breadcrumb trail. Bruce threw her a betrayed look, only for her to reassure him a little more warmly, "We can pay them back later."
Glancing at Scrapper 142, she added, "Since you seem to have an implant, do you know where we could find some? Preferably one that doesn't require surgery."
The alien looked around at the stalls, before gesturing at one with her chin. "That one," she said in flawless English. Something seemed off to Bruce though, and he suspected Natasha felt the same, even if neither of them had caught on yet.
A few minutes later, along with a careful distraction by Bruce towards the guards who were supposed to deter this sort of thing for newcomers, both Bruce and Natasha had little universal translators behind their ears. Now they could understand everyone.
"By the way," Bruce said after they had made some distance from their heist. "What usually happens to new species here? When they just come through the wormholes?"
Their prisoner shrugged. "They just try and make do. If they aren't nabbed as slaves, they try to fit in as best they can. Lots of business helping the newbies settle in and accept the way of things here. If they're lucky, they don't get ripped off in the process. Helps that they tend to come in small groups at a time, so most know better than to cause much trouble, and try and make the best of it, and settle down. Have kids of their own who grow up here, and then have their own. The troublemakers who come to the city don't last long."
-(Alien) Sun-
Well that's a charming little warning, Black Widow dryly noted. No doubt because of the benevolent iron fist of the Grandmaster. She caught Bruce glancing at her, and met his eyes, silently communicating to him to not press further. That was what their 'guide' was hoping for.
Suddenly the crowd started to ripple, and Black Widow caught sight of figures marching in armour towards them.
"To the side," she hissed, dragging Bruce into an alleyway, while openly showing Scrapper 142 the Obedience Disc remote . . . and glanced down at a (surprisingly) primitive sewage drain. The subtext was clear: 'Rat us out, and I'll active this and drop it out of sight, and who knows how long you'll be writhing on the ground.'
Scowling, the alien woman ducked into the alley as well.
It was only about ten individuals going in formation down the street. The helmets and staffs (or spears?) they carried were twisted and alien looking, while their armour had the same strange patterns. Only the colours of the pattern were different, and were bright ones meant to catch your attention. Their weapons looked more ceremonial than anything, yet she could not dismiss the possibility they could still do something like shoot lasers out of the tips. Their identities and even species were totally obscured, and everyone who saw them was clearly afraid.
Fortunately, they passed by their hiding spot without issue, not even really looking around. Merely a show of force.
"That's the army you mentioned earlier?" quizzed Black Widow.
"Yep," Scrapper 142 reluctantly answered. Given the slight twitches to her body language, it was clear she was nervous. The question was whether the super-strong alien was nervous of those soldiers directly, or the possibly they had actually spotted her and would report it.
"How good's their armour and gear?" asked Black Widow. Despite what Star Wars might want you to believe, she was confident that no technologically advanced dictatorship would willfully outfit their troops with equipment that was only designed to look pretty. Especially since given the aggressive and confrontational nature of this planet, and how it was all too plausible that at any moment some advanced weaponry could drop through a wormhole to be picked up by anybody at all. At any point those soldiers could be in a serious firefight. Already she was wondering about any potential security protocols to keep imposters from stealing and wearing that armour, and how to bypass those measures in case she and Bruce needed to use them at some point.
"It's alright," Scrapper 142 answered evasively.
With a wry smile, Black Widow tried a different track. "How would you handle going up against a squad like that? Head on?"
Sporting her own twisted grin, the alien admitted, "For that many, I'd rather use some heavy weaponry, preferably a gun. Just hitting them with my fists or mace is not fast enough, and their weapons would definitely start causing damage quick. Although they keep the serious firepower back at the Palace."
More interestingly, as the soldiers went by, most of the regular people kept edging back nervously, while hesitantly touching or twitching their hands (or species equivalent) towards a part of their bodies, usually near the upper torso or necks. In a few cases there was a brief glimpse with some people of what appeared to be more Obedience Discs. So even those free to walk the streets tend to have them. So at least a visible minority are slaves as well.
Satisfied as she confirmed her suspicions from her earlier interrogation of Scrapper 142, Black Widow reflected further upon the Grandmaster. Well-equipped soldiers patrolling everywhere were a sign of the might the dictator could bring down on everyone. That along with those little slave implants, it was easy to imagine how any opposition could be kept in line with minimal effort. By all appearances it was an effective mixture of both technology and violence to pacify everyone.
I wonder what Fury or Pierce would think of the Grandmaster's methods? she thought with unaccustomed bitterness.
-(Alien) Sun-
[Flashback]
About a year ago
Natasha and Steve Rogers quietly made their way out of the hospital Nick Fury had died in.
Shortly before being shot by the Winter Soldier though, her boss had gotten a flash drive to Rogers. She had stolen it in turn, when she caught the super-soldier trying to conceal it himself. Badly.
So obviously it was their first clue as to what was going on, including why her boss was murdered, and now Captain America of all people was being hunted by S.H.I.E.L.D. as a traitor. The flash drive contained the files she had taken from the Lemurian Star, a ship for launching satellites, which was interesting enough without considering how Fury had apparently hired pirates to seize it, giving him the pretext to send her in to secretly copy the files to this very flash drive. Obviously they needed to find someplace safe to read what was on it. Preferably someplace public, knowing the S.H.I.E.L.D. tracking protocols that would be on it, drawing in rapid response squads. Even if in the likely event it did not conveniently answer all their questions, she was betting her own hacking skills were good enough to find some useful clues.
"So what do you know?" she asked as they walked down the street, with her subtly keeping him away from any cameras. Before going over the flash drive, she would have to find him a better disguise than a hoody; it was just screaming 'I'm trying to hide my identity.' Especially with a build like that.
"According to Fury, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s compromised. That's why he came to me."
"More than just the Lemurian Star then," she mused aloud. "Whatever this is about, it has to be pretty serious. Any ideas?"
"If it's involving that ship and the satellites it was launching, and had Fury so concerned, then I'm pretty sure it's got something to do with Project: Insight," Rogers grimly answered.
"Well, that's not good," she calmly said.
"Tell me about it. That much power," he stopped to shake his head. "If anything goes wrong, a lot of people are going to suffer." He threw her a hard look. "I'm surprised you're not more upset at something being dirty with S.H.I.E.L.D."
"I'm adaptable," she blandly replied.
Inside though, Natasha Romanoff had an unfamiliar feeling of dread.
I have no idea what Project: Insight is.
As Fury's personal agent, she should know. Even if it was above her Clearance Level 7.
For crying out loud, even before Stark and Rogers went snooping around, she had already been aware of Phase 2, using the Tesseract to make—
She cut off that line of thought as an uncomfortable inkling creeped up her spine.
So she kept lying; like she had told Rogers a few minutes ago, she was good at acting like she already knew everything.
"Although at the same time," she lightly probed, "I'm surprised Fury brought you onboard."
"He just wanted me off his back, showing me those three next-generation helicarriers. All those guns, and the engines Stark helped make, and everything."
Obviously, Rogers was still too unfamiliar with Iron Man to realize the flaw in that reasoning. Despite what Fury had apparently oh so carefully implied, probably using her own 'profile' on him that was a bunch of selective facts and reverse psychology, Tony Stark would never directly contribute to any weapons' platform –for what else could it be— unless he had personally vetted everyone involved. Not after what had happened last time he let his company's products get out of his sight.
Not that she herself had seen Stark lately. For all that they had fought for together in New York and buried the hatchet, Natasha did not want to push things by going to Stark/Avengers Tower unless it was for strictly 'hero' business. Especially not if Pepper Potts might be there.
The super-spy doubted the woman had forgiven her for not saying anything while her boyfriend was slowly being poisoned by the very Arc Reactor that was the only thing keeping his heart beating. Or how while undercover as his secretary, Natasha had enabled his self-destructive downward spiral as he chose to party away his legacy, and drive away everyone close to him. All as a test to see if he was worthy of joining the Avengers Initiative.
And she definitely did not want to be there if one Bruce Banner was still living in the Tower. It was for the best they keep their distance. Otherwise things were much too awkward if they bumped into each other.
Hence why now Fury or Clint tended to handle any actual official visits to Iron Man.
If she did not know about Project: Insight, then neither did Clint. As for Fury, for her to have missed him working on something on this scale required deliberate effort on his part to keep her occupied, and looking the other way.
In all likelihood, Rogers had only been informed about this to keep him from snooping around on his own, and digging deeper than Fury wanted (like he had with Phase 2), and because her boss want to evaluate the super-soldier's reaction firsthand. After all, given how concerned he had apparently been, she would bet Fury had been counting on only needing to stall and obfuscate for a few more days before these new helicarriers were launched.
With more careful questioning, she teased out the specifics of Project: Insight, and was confident she had figured out what the naïve Captain had missed:
S.H.I.E.L.D. and other government institutions were handling terrorists well enough, especially considering how they could call in Captain America or Iron Man for back-up if necessary.
An anti-alien invasion force would be made public to reassure the general public that the powers-that-be were doing something. Plus, the guns would be pointed up, not down.
No, this was something else.
Project: Insight was not a 'quantum surge in threat analysis' to eliminate terrorists, as Fury had so carefully emphasized to Rogers, but massively powerful means to take out the Avengers if necessary!
Yes, it could be used to take on other super-powered beings who were a threat to global peace. Except, the way Fury had gone about it made her instinctively know it had been conceived with the Avengers as unspoken potential targets. That it had been born from the realization that the Avengers Initiative had outgrown what it had been intended for, and that contingencies were required.
The whole group was too powerful, so a counter-balance was necessary. They had created the most advanced precision targeting to track and fire upon them from anywhere in the world; and yes, she knew they had DNA samples for all the Avengers. With the sort of firepower Rogers was hinting at, even Thor would be at the very least badly hurt, while the Hulk would be unable to reach the helicarriers that far up into the air.
Not that Natasha had any issue with that.
She understood the necessity.
She also knew that Fury would never authorize the elimination of the Avengers without good reason. Despite what others may have thought, he had neither been that ruthless nor stupid. It was just a contingency for him, with the added benefit of actually taking out terrorists along the way.
No, what really bothered her was how Fury had shut her out of this. As if he did not trust her! That as a full-fledged Avenger, and from fighting with them in New York, she had become compromised!
After all that she had proven willing to do in service of making up for her past crimes!
It grated at her.
What else was she unaware about regarding S.H.I.E.L.D.?
-(Alien) Sun-
Present
Of course, things had only gotten more complicated from there, even if she had reconciled later with Fury, after learning he had faked his death. For all his faults, he was not a bad man. More importantly, he had come to recognize how his very ruthlessness had become detrimental to achieving the peace and freedom he wanted for everyone.
(Learning you were the one to inspire one of your best friends to become a leading member of HYDRA, does that to even a man as cynical as Nick Fury.)
With a mental shake of her head, Black Widow suppressed those thoughts and memories —ones important to Natasha Romanoff—and turned her attention back onto the mission.
Goodness, she was getting sloppy.
Mind properly compartmentalized once more, she reassessed the Grandmaster's political and social policies, with an emphasis on the Contest of Champions. As far as she could tell, the 'Bread and Circus' routine of it was how the public —one made up of countless species with their own cultural and psychological backgrounds— were properly able to vent their frustrations of being stranded on a dump with no way of leaving, and now living under a dictator. A way to vent without lashing out at the world, and the man on top. Instead they found their rush in the spectacle of all the bloodshed and hype of fighting gladiators. Otherwise, there would be even more blatant signs of oppression to keep the inevitable discontent down.
(She refused to believe that Humans and Asgardians were that far removed from every other alien species.)
Yes, the Grandmaster apparently had millennia to install and maintain social instruments of loyalty and obedience into successive generations. Indeed she was very much hoping that the man was not reserving some more literal 'instruments of loyalty and obedience,' ones even worse than the Obedience Discs. Things like Loki's Scepter to literally control minds. Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do about that if there were any, so she had to focus on the more traditional methods she was familiar with.
Except, given how newcomers arrived regularly, there had to be some sort of more immediate outlet for relative newcomers too. Which led right back to the Contest of Champions, the apparent cornerstone of it all, to the point that it was possibly a fixation of the local overlord. Especially given all the advertisements for it she could see just walking down the street, aimed at branding (again, she was hoping there was nothing like subliminal hypnotism involved) the tournament straight into your mind. No wonder it was so popular.
Unfortunately, that was not very helpful for figuring out a safe way to return to good-old Earth.
Obviously, if a fight broke out while they were trying to find a ride back home, Black Widow knew that the best they could hope for was probably to run away. Otherwise Scrapper 142 would use the distraction to try and grab the remote for her Obedience Disc, and in such a chaotic place like this, the Hulk would do more harm than good. In a literally alien environment, there would be far too many triggers for him.
Meaning it would be up to her. Her and her two laser rifles that Bruce had declared to be in the best condition, two machine pistols with a total of seventy-two bullets, six taser discs, one grenade, one last brick of C4-Ultra, two flashbangs, a garrote, eight knives, and three long needles in her pant-legs.
Hardly enough to take on a whole world.
So she was shoving all her anger back where it belonged; keeping herself at her best, to get back home as quickly and quietly as possible. Granted, it was uncomfortable —and frankly unhealthy, to the point she was glad Bruce had not caught on yet to what she was doing— to fall back on such coping mechanisms. To be the Black Widow and not Natasha Romanoff, as much as she desperately wanted to let the former just disappear. To go away.
Unfortunately she knew she needed every trick she had to stay at the top of her game if they were to survive Sakaar. Even if that included the Red Room's programming she fought so hard to overcome, because she was so totally outside of her element here. The only skills she had that might otherwise be applicable to this kind of place . . . would most likely just make it all the worse.
Then she remembered her words to Clint after breaking him out of the alien, wannabe-god Loki's brainwashing and the killing spree it had sent him on. Reassuring her partner that none of their training had covered for that sort of madness. A fact that had failed to stop the two of them from gearing up with the rest of the team, and heading out to stop Loki and his invading army almost all on their own.
Inwardly, Natasha peeked through and smiled. Yes, I'm an Avenger, and the impossible is our thing. We will always find a way. So long as our little —dysfunctional as it is— family sticks together.
I'm not alone here after all.
This was a classic example of the value of being an Avenger over being a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. No credible intelligence agency would waste its time preparing its operatives for being stuck on an alien world, trying to get home without incurring the attention or wrath of the local despot.
This whole situation was the sort of thing they wrote science-fiction stories about, except usually the protagonist was:
a) Taught by some elite, futuristic academy about alien cultures, or
b) The alien culture in question was suspiciously similar to an Earthling one. Like a planet of cowboys or something.
(Cooper liked Star Trek, alright!?)
Fortunately, intimidation and violence appeared universal, and Black Widow kept a hand on her weapons, and glared at anyone who stared at them too long.
Despite this, it could only be a temporary measure. When she and Bruce started asking around for genuine help, they would have to be able to blend in more 'respectfully' as well. Which was what she was counting on Bruce for. She knew her dork would be the one crucial for figuring out how this place truly ticked.
Surprising as it might sound, he had done it countless times back when he was on the run.
-(Alien) Sun-
[Flashback]
Avengers Tower
After HYDRA's Failed Coup
Natasha and Bruce were enjoying some hot tea on one of the various balconies in the high-rise tower the Avengers were all living in.
They were enjoying another pleasant evening together after they had –finally— become friends.
Not that I'll ever thank Steve for what he did, she internally smirked.
They had just had a long and involved discussion regarding tea, including comparing the best places to get it. She remained adamant that this little shop run by an elderly grandmother in China was the best place to go to. As part of one of her covers, the master assassin and spy had bought some, only to fail to actually try it until she got back to the US after the mission was complete. On a whim she had tried it and absolutely loved it . . . and had never been assigned a mission anywhere remotely near that store ever again.
"Why not just take a vacation there?" he asked, before quickly raising a hand. "Yes, I get why you haven't, but a little time to yourself won't kill you. A little vacation tends to be helpful even."
She merely took another sip of her tea, which was answer enough. Natasha was not sure if he really did 'get why,' except she refused to challenge him on it. Better to just let it die.
"There's a seminar near there later this year for some new work on cybernetics," he wheedled. "If I went, I'd need a bodyguard . . ." He trailed off hopefully.
Feeling an uncomfortable twist of guilt, she stalled. "I appreciate the offer, and I'll think about it," she promised. Probably not, yet it was still very sweet of him.
Without losing a beat, she then asked him details about a tea shop he had mentioned in El Salvador.
"It was the atmosphere I missed the most," he confessed. "Really soothing. No one caused trouble there. I was sad to go, but when I discovered the blonde and her friend on my tail, I had to leave."
As the words left his mouth, Natasha almost blinked in shock herself. This was not her first time hearing about the shop, for her first time was part of a monthly debrief for those with clearance about the Hulk, and her flawless memory quickly put faces and names to the agents who had been spying on him at the time. Even as she made the connections, he froze up as if he had made a mistake.
He had known.
Keenly she remembered how they met in a little shack in India, and him asking how S.H.I.E.L.D. found them, and her confident reassurance that not only had they never lost track of him, but—
"Please tell me," she said with a groan that was only half-theatrical, "that you weren't just using us to keep the other spy agencies off of you?"
He winced and gave an embarrassed shrug, even if by all rights he should not have. After all, they had been the ones spying on him, and he had apparently played the most 'elite' spy organization for fools.
Although we still managed to lure him into that trap with a little girl and a sob story. Except . . .
"Alright," she sighed, leaning back in her chair. "How'd you do it?"
With another awkward shrug, he slowly laid it out. He had been a middle-class, Caucasian, American nerd disappearing into the depths of the Developing World, switching countries every few months to stay ahead of his pursuers. More importantly, he'd needed to do so without drawing any attention to himself from the locals. Especially since if certain people thought he was vulnerable enough to take advantage of it, it might bring out the Hulk. Clearly the odds had been stacked against him if he was going to pull it off.
In the beginning he had been too paranoid to even use the internet to learn tricks to disappear, so he had had to learn the hard way. By watching. Observing. Testing out his theories. Checking every variable.
Later he had dared to use the internet for further help and advice.
After a few clumsy attempts by non-S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, he had realized he had various intelligence agencies after him which he had been forced to ditch. After some stressful trial and error, he managed to escape from them, except he never truly let his guard down afterwards. He kept track of everyone who came near him or where he worked or lived. Kept track of who were newcomers, or had something slightly off with their accents, what he noticed when planning out escape routes, what he had overheard. Later he got more clues from what he managed to hack out of certain 'secure' intelligence networks. . .
All those little skills polymaths picked up over time.
Putting all the pieces together, devising a theory, and testing it.
Natasha could only stare in admiration for what he had accomplished. She and the rest of S.H.I.E.L.D. had been grudgingly impressed at how good his vanishing acts were, but only now did she realize how much they had truly missed. How he had played on their arrogance. Despite this, he reassured her Fury's little spies had been the most successful, keeping a discrete eye on Bruce for months before those two agents had gotten sloppy and compromised the whole agency by making him aware of their existence.
Realizing he was being spied upon was one thing.
Realizing it, and staying calm long enough to learn who S.H.I.E.L.D. was, and discover that not only were they just observing, they were also keeping all the rival spies away, was something else. Once Bruce had known about this better brand of spies, he had taken it another step farther by devising a successful counter-strategy of letting S.H.I.E.L.D. think they could nab him whenever they wanted, while in reality he was keeping loose tabs on them in turn, and could have bolted anytime he wanted. Definitely much simpler than having to keep relocating constantly. Moreover, that also implied . . .
"You sneaked away from us a few times didn't you," she accused with a chiding tone. "To not only test if you could, but to try out some experiments you thought up, or to make sure you were under control on tough days without letting S.H.I.E.L.D. know."
Bruce blinked in obvious surprise, and then grinned. "Heh. Yeah. No fooling you."
"Well, you fooled a lot of other spies."
"None of whom were as smart as you," he rejoined.
"Says the man with seven PhDs," she smirked, and now he gave a more confident, good-natured shrug. With the two of them back on more comfortable ground, she turned back to talking about more important stuff like other tea shops.
She catalogued what she had learnt away for later consideration, although she had already decided she would not tell Fury. Her 'boss' had enough secrets as it was, and not knowing this one would not hurt anyone.
This discovery also reaffirmed that for all that Bruce had once been a 'mild-mannered nerd,' and had become even more passive since, at his heart there was a reason his alter-ego was a mass of chaos.
Doing what he had done was a risky gamble, even if it had let him learn more and more about how S.H.I.E.L.D. kept track of him. If not for Loki forcing her to improvise a hasty plan together to approach Bruce while under short time constraints, he probably would have been gone before the little girl used as bait had even entered his apartment.
He had played that little spy game, because not even his fear and hatred for the Other Guy could deny that he was a scientist who was at his best when he was —even without being consciously aware— pushing boundaries and making new discoveries. More than one type of boundaries.
With the Avengers (and the blanket pardon for his services in New York) he had become free to do so again, albeit with the relief of knowing that there were the others on the team keeping an eye on him.
Because Bruce Robert Banner —clumsy, and socially inept Bruce Banner— was a scary, scary genius.
Except he knew that (particularly after the Accident), and did his best to keep it in line, just as he did with the Hulk.
Natasha would be lying if that revelation did not make her appreciate him a little more.
Moreover, somehow the way he had done all that, and yet feel so embarrassed about it, even keeping quiet so as to not hurt her feelings for tricking her and S.H.I.E.L.D., made it almost adorable.
In a dorky sort of way.
-(Alien) Sun-
Present
So yes, if anyone could figure out how to disappear into an alien culture, it was Bruce.
In fact, she was glad to see he was finally cheering up as he looked at all the signs of advanced science, distracting himself from the harsh realities of their new circumstances. The last time she saw him like this, at the party with the rest of the Avengers and Hill, celebrating the retrieval of Loki's Scepter, almost seemed like a lifetime ago. She remembered him acting like a goof, pretending to Hulk-Out while trying to lift Thor's hammer.
That is where he had been at that point; feeling so at ease with his life he was willing and able to joke about the Other Guy. Not hate and fear him.
. . . How did that feel like a lifetime ago?
Who knew, maybe they could find some time here to just relax? For Natasha and her boyfriend to talk about nothing in particular, without a care in the world. Maybe do some actual boyfriend/girlfriend stuff together?
(She was doubly grateful that Stark was not here, because he would be enjoying himself trying to trick them into a room labeled 'Stress Relief Sex Pad,' or 'Private Zucchini Hidey-Hole,' or something equally asinine.)
-(Alien) Sun-
Three hours later, the three of them continued their careful trek through the city, keeping note of everything, and slowly soaking the atmosphere all in. Especially Bruce, who Black Widow knew was busy enjoying the sights, hardly even needing her to remind him she was there to help keep him calm.
Personally, she was unimpressed. Garbage was scattered about everywhere, as in real garbage that was decomposing on the ground. Rags, pieces of scrap, and some stuff that was so messed up she could not even guess what it was. Or used to be.
Bruce had been chewing on one of the ration bars he and Tony had whipped up. If necessary, a whole one could keep even Thor full for a day while out on a prolonged mission (they were appropriately called Lembas Bars, despite the objections of Pepper and those Avengers who caught the Tolkien reference). However the act of eating brought to mind the question of how they were to sustain themselves in the long term.
"How do they feed a population living on a planet-wide pile of garbage?" he exclaimed. Yes, it was clear that there were foods here that could be served to a wide range of lifeforms. Unfortunately, she knew Bruce was a vegetarian, and even when on the run he had done his best to avoid breaking that practice. He turned to Scrapper 142. "Where do they get food? I didn't see any of signs of farms, and you can't count on the wormholes to drop it off."
Their 'local guide' looked confused, as if she had never really thought about where her food came from. She thought about it for a moment, before evidently scrapping up a memory. "Mostly mushrooms that grow on the waste plains. Maybe they've got indoor gardens or something."
"Hydroponics?"
"Dunno. Don't care. Never have."
A sudden commotion suddenly came down the street from behind. Bruce whirled around to look, while Black Widow hesitated to keep an eye on Scrapper 142, and noted the alien was neither concerned nor shocked by the noise. Satisfied, she took a glimpse of what was coming.
It was a parade.
Laughing, singing, and dancing, the large crowd of various aliens made their way down the street. In contrast to the preceding grand diversity in colours and appearances of the locals up to this point, these ones were all dressed in a light golden clothes, waving similar flags, banners, or figurines on a stick that looked like they were made of papier mâché. All were depictions of the same individual, with dozens carrying a massive pièce de résistance.
It was a large model of a golden furred creature with lots of big fangs and claws. Natasha had a sinking feeling the large size of them were not out of proportion either. Best as she could figure, it resembled a weasel . . . except for the eight legs. Plus, the previously emphasized fangs and claws. If the little figures stuffed in its mouth were anything to go by, even someone as big as the Other Guy could comfortably lay in those jaws, with room to spare.
"Ferahgo! Ferahgo! Feragho! Feragho!" the crowd cheered while throwing around golden dust. Children laughed as they looked up in awe at what was obviously a hero to them. Easily dozens of people were caught up in the festivities, with more joining in.
"Ferahgo! Ferahgo! Feragho! Feragho!"
Honestly, while such levels of public adoration would be uncomfortable and even outright dangerous if directed towards the Avengers, Natasha could not help but feel it would be nice to be shown more appreciation for what they did. Although I doubt it's a good thing in this case. That kind of adulation, along with how energetic they are about it —Scrapper 142 and the shopkeepers to the side are treating it as a regular occurrence— doesn't seem healthy. Not on this level. And I think it's not just if it were from Humans either.
"Is all this for the Contest of Champions?" hazarded Bruce.
"Yep," acknowledged Scrapper 142. "That's the current Champion, Ferahgo. Undefeated, uhm, twenty or so years in a row." Not that they knew what a Sakaar year was.
"Guess he's pretty tough," Black Widow lightly probed Scrapper 142.
Snorting, the other woman gave her a condescending look. "Even Big Green wouldn't want to go up against him."
~~To Be Continued…~~
Author Notes:
Regarding Scrapper 142's thoughts on the Grandmaster, I find it telling that both she and Loki were genuinely concerned about his wrath. Especially since you would think Loki's powers would allow him to escape detection, and maybe even kill and impersonate the Grandmaster. Except the powerful sorcerer with a literal god-complex chose to take a more delicate approach . . .
Even later, Thor and Loki were unusually cautious when going up against the Grandmaster, or at least his soldiers. For a race trained in melee combat, both of them chose to use high-powered guns, and taking cover from shots, instead of getting in close.
.
Fun fact: the jawbone that makes up the Hulk's bedframe in canon? That was from the previous Champion. Some of you may recognize the name from the 'Redwall' novels, being a convenient weasel villain name.
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Next Chapter: 'What Do You See?'
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