Chapter 8

? ? ?, The Warp, ? ? ?

It certainly was different, Doctor Strange thought to himself upon crossing the threshold between realities. He had the vaguest notion that something was off. Wrong, even. And yet at the same time something felt very right about it as well.

Strange reached out with his mind, stirring the aether and searching among its swirls and eddies, looking for any traces of Peter. Parker was familiar. He suspected if he could find at least one boy, even, really, if he could only find one, then the other would not be too far. At least, that was what he hoped. He hoped they had the common sense of sticking together and the importance of teamwork.

As his mind touched across the currents of the Immaterium, he became aware of something other. Things that skirted around his consciousness, just close enough that he could glimpse their shadows, but far enough that he could not fully discern what they were. The more he tried to focus on them, the further they fled, leading him deeper and deeper into the void.

Something prickled his mind, and he saw it before it happened. A monster lashed out at him and struck his side, the phantasmal being hurting him physically and psychically. He grunted as he spun to take it down, only for another to appear as he turned his attention. They writhed in a dark tangle of gripping limbs and tentacles, seeking to draw himself into their essence. Their grip was suffocating. They were dragging him, pulling him. He lashed out, but it was too little, too late. Terrifying teeth and monstrous maws sought to consume him. He blinked.

They disappeared.

The future moment passed.

Strange struck out into the void with whips conjured of energy, crackling with the raw force. A phantasmal being materialized upon being struck, sending a psychic cry of pain. Wincing at the cry, Strange bullied through the pain, spinning and flicking his whips of energy at another space in the void – where he had the vision of the other Warp beast. Again, another ghost of a monster materialized, silently screaming through his mind as it worked its body to swipe at him. Strange twisted away, whipping both creatures with his magic.

The monsters skulked off back to the void. He was unsure if they were pack-creatures, retreating to bolster their strength. In any case, he did not desire to find out. He strengthened his mental wards before resuming his search.

Looking anew with his mind's eye, a brilliant light flared up at him, seeming to beckon him. He knew Parker's aura. From the few encounters he'd had with the boy in their past, Parker was familiar. This beacon, this aura? This wasn't Parker.

Cᴏᴍᴇ, he suddenly thought.

Come? To where? Where would he go? He knew next to nothing of this place, never mind that it wasn't even really a place.

Cᴏᴍᴇ.

There it was again. That strange thought in his head. But who was he telling to come? Or was it his psyche fracturing? Something other? Something sinister?

He checked his wards. Nothing was out of place, and yet he felt the thought again, like a siren's song.

Cᴏᴍᴇ.

No. He was finally able to discern it. It was not his thought. It was a thought planted.

"Who are you? Who's there?" Strange called out to the void, looking around. Where was it? Was it nearby? Was he in danger? Was it like those strange creatures he encountered earlier? But those did not talk – they didn't think. They couldn't pierce his mind like this.

The light in the distance pulsed, flickering and changing colors.

Cᴏᴍᴇ.

It was the light – the beacon.

"Why? What do you want of me?" Strange called back. This dimension held strange creatures - of that he'd already seen. Carefully, he worked his own magic, attempting to trace the aetheric signature back to its source. If it wouldn't reveal itself, he would at least try to discern how powerful an entity it was. It wouldn't do to place himself in further danger when he was supposed to be rescuing those kids.

Cᴏᴍᴇ.

He grabbed at the thought, projecting his conscious. The world swirled about him, turning inside-out before he was abruptly stopped by something. Wards? Psychic wards? He gently pressed on them, testing their strength. They didn't budge. Whatever or whoever it was knew what they were doing. He would need to be cautious.

The world swirled about him as he returned to himself. He reached out into his surrounds. Nothing had changed. Rather, everything had changed, but he found no predators lurking in the shallows. At least, no predators of his knowing.

Cautiously, he made his way toward the beacon.

The geometries of the dimension folded in upon themselves as he navigated the Warp, carefully following the psychic trail that the beacon prepared for him. It must have imparted some form of warding, as the predators seemed to ignore his presence. Still, he continued in caution. He could not, would not blindly trust this being calling to him. But, curiosity would lead him to the source. He would discover why he was called.

Soon, he found himself where he'd been unable to go earlier. Where his astral form had found warding, he now saw those wards physically manifest. It appeared as a building, like one of those sturdy homes from ancient Mesopotamia, but with fundamentally alien embellishments. Looking with his mind's eye, he again saw the beacon flaring from within.

The door opened.

Cautiously, he approached the portal, unsure of what to expect from the other side.

"Doctor Strange!" a young voice exclaimed.

Although he knew better, he dropped his guard, rushing through the portal.

"Peter!" he exclaimed as he saw the kid. Peter had a huge dumb grin on his face. Standing behind him was another kid, likely the one Samuel Trembley, if the commissar and Linux were to be believed. Strange noted that Sam appeared more somber, but also had the ghost of a smile – relief, likely, was all that Strange could think of.

Gᴏᴏᴅ. Yᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ғɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ʜᴇʀᴇ, a voice said – no, thought. He heard nothing, but the words were placed in his mind all the same. It was the same voice that had beckoned him to come. It knew how to subvert some of his own mental wards, a fact which greatly troubled him.

He looked around, but saw no one. Suddenly, he heard the flapping of wings and saw a large, red raven alight onto Peter's shoulder. The boy shifted his stance, accepting the weight of the bird.

"Okay, uh, this is Mirqurios. He helped keep us alive, I guess," Peter said, gesturing to the bird as a means of introduction.

Strange raised an eyebrow.

The bird stared at him. Its gaze dug into him, deeper and deeper, as though it was trying to examine soul. He didn't like that. Quickly, he refortified his psychic barriers in response. He almost thought he saw the bird's face twist with amusement.

"Mirqurios? That's a rather interesting name for a bird," he mused out loud.

Aɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ᴡɪsᴇ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɴᴏᴛ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪs ᴀs ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀ, the bird remarked psychically. A familiar sentiment, one that the Ancient One had instilled in him long ago.

"Of course," he replied, nodding briefly in agreement. "Now, I'll just be taking Peter and Samuel. Thank you for watching them, but I think it's about time we got back home."

Gᴏ ᴏɴ, ᴛʜᴇɴ. I'ᴍ ᴇᴀɢᴇʀ ᴛᴏ sᴇᴇ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ Tᴇʀʀᴀ ɪs ʟɪᴋᴇ, Mirqurios replied. The bird didn't budge from Peter's shoulder. It sat as if it belonged there.

"Uh, no. I'm just taking the kids. Thank you for watching them, but I don't know who or what you are and I'm not exactly keen on bringing more unknowns back to Earth."

Uɴᴅᴇʀsᴛᴀɴᴅᴀʙʟᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ I ᴍᴜsᴛ ᴅᴇᴄʟɪɴᴇ ʀᴇᴍᴀɪɴɪɴɢ ʜᴇʀᴇ. I ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ʟᴏɴɢɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ᴛʜɪs ʜᴇʀᴍɪᴛᴀɢᴇ ғᴏʀ sᴏᴍᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ.

"What, the locals not to your liking?" Strange quipped back.

As ʏᴏᴜ'ᴠᴇ sᴇᴇɴ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ᴍʏ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴠᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ, sᴏᴍᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴄᴀɴ ʙᴇ ǫᴜɪᴛᴇ ʜᴏsᴛɪʟᴇ.

"Intervention?"

Oғ ᴄᴏᴜʀsᴇ. Yᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴄᴀᴘᴀʙʟᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ʏᴏᴜɴɢ Tʀᴇᴍʙʟᴇʏ, ʙᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀᴛ ᴀ ᴅɪsᴀᴅᴠᴀɴᴛᴀɢᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜɪs ᴜɴʀᴇᴀʟɪᴛʏ. Yᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ɴᴏᴛ ᴏғ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʟᴜʀᴋs ᴡɪᴛʜɪɴ ɪᴛs ᴅᴇᴘᴛʜs.

"When I first entered, there were… things that tried to grab at me," Strange replied, thinking back to those events seeming only moments ago.

Yᴇs, ᴛʜᴏsᴇ ᴅᴀᴇᴍᴏɴs ᴀʀᴇ ᴀᴄᴛᴜᴀʟʟʏ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴘᴇsᴋʏ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴛʀᴜʟʏ ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀᴏᴜs. Bᴜᴛ ʜᴀᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴍᴀɪɴᴇᴅ ᴜɴᴡᴀʀᴅᴇᴅ ᴀɴʏ ʟᴏɴɢᴇʀ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀᴛᴛʀᴀᴄᴛᴇᴅ ᴍᴜᴄʜ... ᴜɴᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴀᴛᴛᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ. I ᴡᴀsɴ'ᴛ ᴇxᴀᴄᴛʟʏ sᴜʙᴛʟᴇ ᴡʜᴇɴ I ᴘʀᴏᴊᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ᴍʏsᴇʟғ ᴀs ᴀ ʙᴇᴀᴄᴏɴ ғᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ, ᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ. Nᴏᴡ, ᴄᴀɴ ᴡᴇ ɢᴏ?

Strange cast a look to Peter. "You've been with it longer than I. Do you trust it?"

Peter made a face, looking to the bird before turning back to Stephen. "I want to trust him. I mean, he did keep us safe. But, he did some weird stuff, too."

"I don't trust him. Obviously, he's not human. I don't know his intentions, and he lives in the Warp," Sam said, speaking up as he folded his arms across his chest.

"Yeah. Mirqurios kinda, I don't know, possessed him for a little bit of time?" Peter supplied, his voice rising in pitch at his suggestion.

Sam nodded, a flare of red coloring his cheeks and ears while his mouth drew into a thin grim line.

Tʜᴇ ʏᴏᴜɴɢ ɢᴜᴀʀᴅsᴍᴀɴ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʙᴜʀɴᴛ ʜɪᴍsᴇʟғ ᴏᴜᴛ. Hᴇ ʜᴀᴅ ɴᴏ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏғ ʜɪs ᴀʙɪʟɪᴛɪᴇs ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴛʜʀᴏᴡɴ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴀ ᴠᴀᴛ ᴏғ ʀᴀᴡ ᴇɴᴇʀɢʏ, ᴇssᴇɴᴛɪᴀʟʟʏ. I ᴘᴏssᴇssᴇᴅ ʜɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇ ʜɪs ʟɪғᴇ. Aɴᴅ ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ, I ᴄᴀɴ ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴇᴀᴄʜ ʜɪᴍ ʜᴏᴡ ᴛᴏ ʜᴏɴᴇ ʜɪs ᴀʙɪʟɪᴛɪᴇs, Mirqurios said.

Strange looked back at the bird. "I'll keep that in mind, though it doesn't look like anyone here holds you in high esteem. It wouldn't be wise of me to bring an untrustworthy creature back to earth, wouldn't you think?"

Sᴏ, ᴡʜᴀᴛ? Mirqurios huffed, clearly agitated. Is ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪᴛ? Tʜᴇʏ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛʀᴜsᴛ ᴍᴇ, sᴏ I ᴀᴍ ʟᴇғᴛ ᴛᴏ ғᴇɴᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴍʏ ᴏᴡɴ?

"Well, this is your home dimension, isn't it? It's where you belong," Strange replied.

Nᴏ, ɪᴛ's ɴᴏᴛ, Mirqurios projected acerbically. Strange raised an eye, and he could see that Peter also hadn't considered the possibility. I ᴡᴀs ᴛʀᴀᴘᴘᴇᴅ ʜᴇʀᴇ. Aʟʟ ᴛʜɪs ɪs ɴᴀᴜɢʜᴛ ʙᴜᴛ sᴜʀᴠɪᴠᴀʟ.

"You cannot trust him."

Strange looked over to the speaker, his brows raised. It was Sam.

"We are in the Warp; he is a creature of the Warp," the youth said as if it were all the explanation needed.

I ᴀᴍ ɴᴏ "ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ" ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ Wᴀʀᴘ, Mirqurios countered. Bᴇғᴏʀᴇ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴄᴀsᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏɪʟɪɴɢ sᴇᴀ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ Wᴀʀᴘ, I ᴡᴀs ᴀɴ Iᴍᴘᴇʀɪᴀʟ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ, he said, looking pointedly at Sam.

Sam shook his head. "It doesn't work like that. Normal people don't just enter the Warp and survive."

Aɴᴅ ʏᴇᴛ ʜᴇʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ. sᴛᴀɴᴅɪɴɢ ʙʏ ᴍʏ sɪᴅᴇ. Aʀᴇ ᴡᴇ ʙᴜᴛ ᴀɴᴏᴍᴀʟɪᴇs ᴏғ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴɪᴛʏ, ᴛʜᴇɴ?

"No. Peter and I… no." Sam looked back to Strange. "Don't let his words fool you. He must remain here."

Lᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ ᴛᴏ Tᴇʀʀᴀ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ. Yᴏᴜ'ᴠᴇ sᴇᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴜʀᴇs ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ Wᴀʀᴘ. Mirqurios looked away for a moment, as if trying to determine what to say. Iғ ʏᴏᴜ ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ, I... I... ғᴇᴀʀ... I ᴡɪʟʟ ᴅɪᴇ. Fᴏʀᴇᴠᴇʀ.

Was it… pleading? This anomaly of life, did it really want so badly to join them in the Materium, on Earth?

"We cannot bring him with us. We cannot allow a Warp daemon to taint Holy Terra. It will herald doom for the Holy Terra of now and future."

"So, what? We just leave him to die?" asked Peter. "Sure, I'm don't trust him completely, but I don't think leaving him to die is any sort of solution."

"No, it is. Any other guardsman – any other Imperial citizen would know that their life is forfeit upon entering the Warp as we have," Sam said, his voice taking a shaky edge.

"Then you're in luck, kid," Strange said, slapping Sam on the back. The kid started at the touch that was meant to be reassuring. "We're heroes of Earth. We don't leave people behind, and we give second chances. Now," he turned his attention back to Mirqurios, "if we do bring you, someone will need to watch over you. Both of you, actually," Strange amended, twitching his finger to gesture to both Mirqurios and Sam.

"Me? Why me?" Sam exclaimed, indignant.

"Mirqurios suggested you may have powers. Barring that, you and Poltava and Linux are illegal immigrants to the USA and strangers to our Earth. We'll need time to make sure you are all properly adjusting to life." To make sure you are not a threat went unspoken, but understood.

I ᴡɪʟʟ sᴜʙᴍɪᴛ ᴍʏsᴇʟғ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ sᴜᴘᴇʀᴠɪsɪᴏɴ, ɪғ I ᴍᴜsᴛ. Lᴇᴛ ᴜs ʙᴇ ɢᴏɴᴇ ғʀᴏᴍ ʜᴇʀᴇ.

Sam looked back to Strange. "I cannot make any promises. When we return to Terra, I will be back under Commissar Poltava's command."

"Well, lucky for you, Captain America and some other friends have probably already presented her the same," said Strange. "Now, then. Are we ready to return?"

015.M3, Holy Terra, New York, Avengers Tower, 7 November, Morning

Tony sat at the table. His hands were clasped around a white mug, soaking in its heat, while his head hovered over the steaming brown liquid. It was too early.

He'd spent some time during the previous days trying to learn more about these strange "guests." Romanov had been helpful in learning about the Commissar. That woman, despite her fanatical devotion to some supposed strange "Imperial Creed," could pass as normal. He'd yet to get her to completely divest her uniform and wear something more normal, but she'd shed the greatcoat and hat. It was a start. She'd at least toned down the military fanboy look.

Linux was strange. He had an obsession with technology. He'd holed himself into his workshop and hadn't left for these past days. At least, he never saw the strange mechanical man leave. Not for food, not for the bathroom, not for sleep. Most definitely not for any sort of socialization.

He heard the clattering of dishes. Dully, he looked up to see Banner taking a seat across from him.

"Rough night?" the other scientist asked.

Stark just closed his eyes and sunk his head closer to the coffee.

"I've been trying to find out more about them. Natasha's learned a lot from Poltava so far, but the tech priest?" Tony shook his head. "He's guarded. He's holed up in my workshop and won't speak about what he's working on. He's got the whole place smelling like an auto-shop -turned-monastery."

"Huh," said Banner. "I would have thought you of all people would be able to get along with him. I mean, you both like tinkering."

"That's the thing. He doesn't tinker. Whatever he does, it's like a ritual. I can't make sense of it. And the book he sometimes consults – it's in their weird future language or whatever. I can't figure him out," Tony said, throwing up his hands.

Tony slumped back down over his coffee, cradling his head in his hands.

"Well… maybe I could try?" Banner hazarded to suggest.

Tony looked up.

"I mean, yeah, I'm more of a biologist, but I do believe that religion has its place within science."

Tony stifled a snort. "Right. You disappeared off to India or wherever. Thought that some "spiritual enlightement" or whatever could help you control the green guy."

Banner furrowed his brows, a look of annoyed agitation on his face. "Really?"

"What? What did I say?"

Bruce sat in silence.

"What? C'mon, just tell me."

"You don't have any respect for other people's beliefs."

"C'mon. I mean, really? I have plenty of respect!"

"No, and I'm not going to argue with you over this." Banner stood up from the table, empty dishes in hand. "I'm going to check on Linux. Enjoy your breakfast."

Linux was in Stark's shop. The man had such tools – it was interesting to see what mankind had developed before its fall. What measures it was taking while it still had yet to even take its first steps to the stars. This was the technology before Mars.

Primitive.

Ingenuous.

Mankind still had yet to discover the designs for machinery and tool or the chemical structures of the enhanced materials of the Imperium. Stark had made promising steps, though dangerously heretical ones, bringing Terra closer to its ascension. Perhaps one of Stark's own progeny – natural or otherwise – would take over and help guide mankind to the stars. Linux savored the thought for a brief moment before dismissing it.

Still, Linux enjoyed the access to Stark's technology. He'd spent the first days seeing to himself. After battle, normally he would tend to his own wounds, both of the flesh and of the machine. But because of the strangeness of time and coming upon this Terra, he'd been unable. He'd tried, yes, but he lacked the proper facilities. Rudimentary field work was all he'd been able to do, repairing and patching from the scraps of this primitive world. But now? Well, now he certainly had such choice of materials. Stark had not yet stopped him from requisitioning materials from the Munitorum of this Terra. Yes, there was cost, but he made no complaints of it yet. Perhaps the resources weren't as scarce as they were in his time?

No matter.

He had seen to the maintenance of his mechandendrites over the first few days. The mechanical limbs themselves had been in sore need of repair. Normal guardsmen wouldn't notice, but he knew that the plates casing the wires and tubing in the mechadendrites had been dented, making movement stiffer and slower.

Carefully, he'd detached the most heavily damaged mechadendrite from its mounting to his cyber mantle, laying the limb gently on the workbench before him. Immediately, he missed its comfortable weight upon his back. He then dismissed the thought.

Slowly, he set to work removing the shield casing. With gentle movements, he took it apart, chanting the Canticle of Repair to it and himself as he sought to sooth the machine's spirit. Gently, he set each interlocking plate to the side to be hammered out and refitted later.

With the innards of the limb opened to him, he inspected it. He exorcised the spaces between tubing and wires from dust and grime, revealing the deteriorating nature of those parts. Now singing the Canticle of Replacement, he removed the exhausted wires and clotting tubes, carefully marking each one and giving thanks for its service. Then, after verifying the purity of the copper and silicone components, he united them within the body of the mechadendrite.

He completed the Canticle of Replacement and resumed the Canticle of Repair, again inspecting the entirety of limb. When he was certain the spirit was appeased, he lovingly performed the tedious task of reattaching the protective casing, link by interlocking link. Finally, he reattached the limb to his back before slowly repeating the process with the other three.

Several times throughout the process, he became aware of the door to the shop opening and closing. Often, it was Stark. The man would never say anything, just observe him with the strangest expression on his face before rolling his eyes and leaving. Linux did not linger on examining those actions. If Stark needed him, he would know.

Once, though, Bruce Banner entered. Like Stark before him, Banner quietly observed him perform the maintenance rituals. Unlike Stark, Banner seemed more contemplative. He idly observed how the man's eyes tracked his movements, as if trying to divine what his purpose was in his actions. If he'd been of the Mechanicus, the rituals would be painfully common, but he was not. Perhaps there could be potential for Banner's catechesis?

He lost track of how many days had passed. Poltava had merely passed by the glass doors of the shop on occasion, but never entered. She likely had something she wanted to inform him, but deemed it was not urgent enough to interrupt the ritual. She'd been like that, even in their time. She respected the actions of the Mechanicus and their expertise in handling machine spirits. Perhaps some time later he would indulge her in conversation.

The door opened and someone joined him in the shop. He did not look up. He could tell by the weight of the other man's footfalls and breathing that it was Banner. Would this "scientist," as Stark had termed once before, have something to say to him this time? He released the thought and returned to focus on the Canticle.

He was nearing the end of the maintenance ritual on his curatio mechadendrite, again undergoing the meditative repetition of reattaching the casing. He quietly noted Banner move closer to watch.

Linux affixed the final piece in place, ending the ritual, before speaking in the old tongue of this world, English.

"Yes?" he asked.

Banner looked a little startled now that the tech priest's full attention had been turned to him. He recovered quickly enough.

"It's very interesting. I've never seen augmentations like those."

"They are quite common within the Mechanicum," Linux replied plainly. He initiated a calibration executable file for the limbs, and they began to twitch in the pre-programmed cycle to ensure that full range of movement would be achieved.

"Really? The technology that's gone into it – it reminds me of some of Tony's projects… Nothing at all that's available to the public."

"They are necessary."

"Necessary?"

"The Enginseer maintains the machines of the Imperium, wherever they may be."

"Meaning that it must be a mobile kit," Banner finished, nodding his head. "I've seen you work with them. You have a lot of control."

"Of course. They are fully integrated extensions."

"Fully integrated? Would you mind sharing with me how they attach? I'm something of a biologist," Banner offered, likely in hope of an explanation.

Linux shook his head. "The mechadendrites are a collection of STCs protected by the Adeptus Mechanicus of Mars. I cannot share such knowledge with the uninitiated."

Banner deflated. Linux tilted his head.

"I can share that it, similar to the prosthetics used within the Imperium, it connects directly into the nervous system."

Banner moved to examine Linux's form, a look of awe on his face. "In the future – you have that? The technology to make fully integrate prosthetics. Wow. Just, wow." He dipped his head closer to the mechadendrites. "It looks like it could have just been a harness," Banner mused, carefully examining the twitching limbs, "But you say it's fully integrated? How do you even power it all? There's no way a simple battery or something fits there, never mind the circuit board to help relay your mental synapses into electrical impulses…"

"A simple harness would not give the proper reaction speeds needed in live combat," Linux remarked. "The power source, too, is sacred knowledge of the Mechanicus."

"What a shame," Banner said stepping back, a wistful look on his face. "All of this – it could greatly benefit modern medicine." Banner paused, a small silence filling the room.

"I think you should work with Tony."

Linux tilted his head in confusion. "Why? Stark does not adhere to the precepts of the Mechanicus. He is not an initiated member. He has violated the Law of A.I."

Banner's lips twisted. "Well, no, it doesn't make sense when you put it like that. But I think that both of you hold such knowledge and skills that you could honestly develop something to improve mankind. Stark's been trying to branch away from weapons, but," Banner shrugged his shoulders, "weapons sell."

Linux nodded. "Indeed. The Munitorum is a robust department within the Imperium. Millions are employed in its service."

Banner shook his head. "There's more to life than war and weapons. You and Stark, you could probably develop such wonderful things for humanity. Like prosthetics," he said, waving a hand to the mechadendrites. "Look at you: you're from our future. You've seen things, technologies and works that we could hardly dream of –"

Linux cut him off. "No. Innovation opens the Anima to Chaos."

"That's a rather strange way to look at invention, but let me help you think about it in another way. Don't think about it as creating something new from nothing. That is impossible. But rather, there's all this research. You've probably looked around the internet by now, right?"

Linux nodded slowly.

"The internet is a vast expanse of knowledge – the expertise of every human, carefully collected into the digital media. And when we create things, build things, and invent things, we use the wok of those who've gone before us. We learn what they have done, what worked and what didn't. Just give Stark a chance," Banner said, lightly slapping Linux on the back, just above the cyber mantle. It was something the other Avengers did. Even guardsmen did it quite often. A sign of friendship and compatriotism. "I think you two could work on some great things together."

Banner exited the shop, leaving Linux to ponder their conversation in solitude. He was only an Enginseer. He'd been assigned to the Cadian 1214th to maintain vehicles, equipment, and the occasional body. He was a lowly tech priest of the Adeptus Mechanicus, not even a magos. And yet, he and the Commissar and young Guardsman had all survived mortal peril in crossing the Warp – well, he and the Commissar, at least. He felt the sadness of loss, a tiny, pitiful prick at the bottom of his mechanical heart, but that was all it was. Nothing personal, it was just how life was. The young died in droves every day in service to the Imperium. If he'd any hope in the youth's survival, it would have been vastly misplaced. Rather, he needed to focus on the now. It was just himself and the Commissar on a virginal Holy Terra. There must be some reason from the Omnissiah, from the Emperor, as to why it was them.

He shook his head. It was not for him to know. Not yet.

For now, he only needed to place trust in the Omnissiah. The rest would be revealed in time.

AN: This took much longer than I expected to write. Battled writer's block for both this and multiple other essays, a killer head cold, and then spent a righteous good time bonding with my brother and sisters who were in the area for a weekend in February and again in March. Do forgive my negligence.

I am also including a short outtake – I ended up completely writing out a character in this portion (I don't know if I'll have him appear later). I really wanted to make the Boar Vessel meme work, but the setting just wasn't working with the new "canon" of the revised chapter. Enjoy.

-Pappenheimer

Outtake

I ᴡɪʟʟ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴀ ᴠᴇssᴇʟ, ᴏʀ I ғᴇᴀʀ ᴍʏ ғᴏʀᴍ sʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴅɪssᴀᴘᴀᴛᴇ ǫᴜɪᴄᴋʟʏ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ Iᴍᴍᴀᴛᴇʀɪᴜᴍ, Mirqurios commented.

"Yes, you've expressed you need a vessel. Can it be anything? Or does it need to fulfill certain requirements?" Strange asked in clipped tones.

Iɴᴀɴɪᴍᴀᴛᴇ ᴛʀɪɴᴋᴇᴛs ᴏʀ ᴀᴄᴄᴇssᴏʀɪᴇs ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇsᴛ, ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ I ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴀ sᴇɴᴛɪᴇɴᴛ ғᴏʀᴍ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ᴡᴇʟʟ.

Doctor Strange gave his body a quick pat-down, trying to see if he had any non-magical trinkets on his person. He came up empty. He looked to see Peter doing the same, but with the costume he was wearing, it didn't look as if he was having much luck, either.

Suddenly Peter looked to Doctor Strange, a strange expression on his face.

"What?" asked Strange.

"Do you think you could get a certain vessel?" the teen asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Etruscan ceramic. 600-500BC," Peter said, trying to stop the smile that was growing on his lips. "In the shape of a boar."

Strange groaned. "Peter, we're trying to get you and everyone out of the Warp. If you're not going to be helpful, save it for later," he replied.

Wʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴏᴇs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴇᴀɴ? Mirqurios asked.

"It's one of those things kids say. A "meme" is what they call it."

I ᴡɪʟʟ ᴇɴᴅᴇᴀᴠᴏʀ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴀʀɴ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇsᴇ sᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇ ᴇxᴘʀᴇssɪᴏɴs ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴡᴇ ɢᴇᴛ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ Tᴇʀʀᴀ. Nᴏᴡ, ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ғᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ?

Strange shook his head. "No. It doesn't look like Peter or I have anything."

Mirqurios cocked his head, glancing quickly between Sam and Remiel.

"You know that you would be entirely incompatible with my gear," Remiel said.

I ᴅᴏ.

Mirqurios looked at Sam once more, and Doctor Strange attempted to follow its gaze. Something gold glittered on the boy's wrist. Mirqurios hopped over to it, using his beak to gently tug up the boy's sleeve.

Hɪs Aǫᴜɪʟᴀ. Tʜɪs ᴛʀɪɴᴋᴇᴛ sʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴡᴏʀᴋ, said Mirqurios.

"Wait," said Peter. "Shouldn't you ask him before you take it? He seemed really religious. I don't think he'd like to part with it."

Mirqurios looked back to Peter. Sʜᴏʀᴛ ᴏғ ɪɴᴠᴀᴅɪɴɢ ʜɪs ᴍɪɴᴅ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ, ᴡʜɪᴄʜ I ᴅᴏᴜʙᴛ ʜᴇ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇ, ᴛʜɪs ɪᴛᴇᴍ ᴡɪʟʟ sᴜғғɪᴄᴇ ғᴏʀ ᴍʏ ᴘᴜʀᴘᴏsᴇs. Wʜᴇɴ ᴡᴇ ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ ᴛᴏ Tᴇʀʀᴀ, I ᴄᴀɴ ᴀsᴋ - I ᴡɪʟʟ ᴄᴏᴍᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴀ ɴᴇᴡ Aǫᴜɪʟᴀ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ᴛʜɪs.

Mirqurios looked around. Is ᴛʜɪs ᴀɢʀᴇᴇᴀʙʟᴇ?

"It is indeed better than you possessing anyone," Sperro remark.

Doctor Strange nodded his head. "If this is what is needed to help us all get back to Earth, then do it."

Peter, too, gave a quiet assent.

Gᴏᴏᴅ, Mirqurios said. He used his beak to snatch the little golden Aquila from Sam's wrist. The boy stirred, but did not wake. Dexterously, Mirqurios slipped the length of chain over his avian head, wearing it as a heavy necklace.

Sʜᴀʟʟ ᴡᴇ ɢᴏ?

"Right," Strange said, lifting his hands as he focused with the sling ring.

Behind him, Sperro gently lifted Sam into his arms. He heard flapping as Mirqurios landed on his shoulder.

The molten golden portal was opened, and Strange could see the meeting room from where he'd left. It was empty now. He supposed some time may have passed. "Just through this door here," he said, gesturing with his hand at the portal.