Never let go. The thought carved its way forward in Donnie Gill's mind, in the snake of a path the first fractures of glass all follow. Slow, sluggish, compared to the inevitable shatter, but piercing.
Never let go, it whispered, Seth Dormer is about to die, hold the device steady and take the lightning bolt instead. Never let go, and your best friend's death won't be your fault.
Memories came flooding in, surging behind this mantra. A flash of brilliant light. The crack of thunder that had followed. The pulse of the whole sky, replacing the pulse in Seth's chest. Donnie's own heart was pounding as loud as the thoughts that haunted him now.
He was standing on a ship, a blazing sun above him. But the deck below him was freezing through his shoes, and the whole ship was getting colder. Donnie remembered a face from HYDRA and wanting to comply. He remembered falling. The sound of a crack of gunfire from somewhere above him.
And now the sound of more cracks, from his mind and heart pulsing, willing the fractures inside him outward. And in compliance, thirty meters of solid ice fracturing, and then shattering entirely.
The crew of Zephyr One found themselves on the bridge of the Lemurian Star, commandeering its communication arrays and sensors in short order.
With S.H.I.E.L.D. still a shadow organization in the eyes of most world governments, General Talbot did most of their talking for them. At least in the eyes of those unaware of the extensive track record of the battered individuals in front of them. FitzSimmons most of all, with their singed lab coats, more dark and dust than white. And yet their every word carried the experience of a decade of near unparalleled excellence in their fields, with the gravitas of those who had cheated death and still dared It to try again.
Bobbi and Hunter had flown in to rendezvous with the team, bringing a new S.H.I.E.L.D. tactical unit with them. While they were full agents, they still kept their old mercenary connections, and were more than happy to recruit from both former allies and competitors on shadow government money, whenever they weren't needed to fulfill combat and espionage roles. Now though, it was all hands on deck.
Coulson had appeared once more at Talbot's shoulder, his face carefully hidden from view, to provide his intelligence perspective to an anxious international community. Russia had started a concerted push to form an Inhuman sanctuary.
Coulson would have liked to have been pleasantly surprised, pledged his support, and added the location as a safehouse for the new Inhumans they and the ATCU were encountering at an increasing rate. However, with Malick so desperate to find Inhumans, even in the middle of the least hospitable frozen wasteland on earth, Coulson was adverse to wrapping the world's most dangerous individuals up with a pretty bow for Malick. So instead, he nudged Talbot, and promptly turned the conversation to demanding accountability for the call's attendants who still harbored bastions of HYDRA forces. Perfect. Hostile enough to draw the focus away, important enough to still be productive.
"You going to get your people out?" Talbot turned to look at Coulson after the last television screen blinked dark.
"With everything we have, yes." Coulson met his gaze firmly.
"Last I checked that isn't as much as it used to be, Phil." Talbot glanced out at the still-smoking Zephyr One, and the military welders doing their best to work on its unconventional surface, "I could slip in a squad of some of the guys on this ship. We tell them they have a chance to see the world. The southernmost continent certainly counts."
"You can't do that, and you know it." Coulson countered solidly, "Strictly speaking this whole encounter happened, your men are fixing standard F-35s, not a S.H.I.E.L.D. mobile command center, on a Forward Operating Base somewhere far, far inland. This ship is technically Navy jurisdiction ever since we had our family feud with HYDRA."
"I don't see any sailors running around. This ship has really been all yours since day one," Talbot pointed out.
"I had a conversation with the President, who agreed it would be preferable to have an aircraft carrier absent from official threat assessments of our presence overseas. But," Coulson said, anticipating Talbot's objection, "that obscurity won't hide the expense reports of your men firing a single bullet."
"So what do you want me to do?" barked Talbot.
"If you want to fight, take down Malick's funding sources. As flashy as you want. And find General Hale and start looking for who sent those pilots at mine." said Coulson.
Malick rubbed his temple. With centuries of deep space missions, he wouldn't have been surprised if Hive's return was the most expensive project to ever have been undertaken. Made more difficult with insurance claims undergoing uncomfortable extra scrutiny for reasons that could only be Coulson's team.
And even more difficult by the materials needed that money could not buy. Inhumans. The body of Grant Ward had requested several. Demanded really. Malick's right-hand man Giyera had duly followed Hive's order to pursue S.H.I.E.L.D.'s motley assortment. Malick was frustrated at the ease at which Giyera had shown his comfort in taking orders from another, but as it stood Hive still answered to Malick. Supposedly.
He could raid the ATCU, perhaps, the Watchdogs had some cells available with potentially persuaded members. But they'd more than likely kill anyone they captured, if Lash didn't do so first.
Too brutal for a S.H.I.E.L.D. weapon, no this was a third party. A hulking beast that had ruined more than one gift for Hive by blasting them apart. Malick hadn't known the husk of Ward to feel much of anything, but in those eyes when shown the footage, Malick sensed a spark of something dangerous.
Daisy clawed her way back into consciousness, her armored gauntlets finding more purchase in the ground and shoulder of Lincoln beside her with each jolt. The bursts of pain serving as handholds of pure light towards a sky of pure white. Gasping, she took in breath after cold, scraping breath, her hands running across her side finding smooth metal under her tattered jacket instead of soft skin.
"We didn't think it was wise to use more layers as bandages when we could instead turn the shrapnel to protect you from more like it." Whispered Lincoln, stroking her hair, "you mad at me?"
"I will be as soon as I get warm." groaned Daisy, before pulling herself shakily to her feet with a hand from Joey, "what's next?"
Giyera eyed the fancy paintball guns held by the wolf-masked men standing poised by the submarine hatch. The ammunition wouldn't have been out of place on an armored vehicle, however. It could certainly destroy one.
Nitromene, pioneered by Howard Stark and perfected by Felix Blake, who knew it was important to arm his Watchdogs with something even an Inhuman would have a difficult time shrugging off. As an added bonus, the extreme heat could possibly counter even sub-zero ice formations. Giyera didn't have the heart to point out that melting anyone free from an icicle state would merely be body recovery.
There had been an incredibly short broadcast from their drilling team. "Succe-" it had read. Success? Not in communication. Giyera hoped it was referring to their mining operations. He had a nagging feeling that the abruptness hadn't been voluntary, and his hope was more fear by the time the submarine crew found itself in position.
"20 seconds until breach!" Watchdog Alpha's booming voice rung out, reverberating on the close walls.
Deep in the internals of the behemoth water craft, engines roared further and accelerated the cylinder to the surface.
Joey knew something was off.
They had spotted the drills from half a kilometer away with their binoculars. The storm had evidently peaked, and was now lessening. A message on a S.H.I.E.L.D. frequency was currently downloading onto Daisy's laptop as a result. Things were going too well.
As they approached, the team realized soon their good fortune hadn't been universal. Spears of ice impaled cloaked HYDRA figures, their blood staining the earth below them, forming icicles of blood clinging to the shafts embedded inside them. The drills were little more than a decorative shell for perfectly drill-shaped ice sculptures. Everyone in the encampment had been killed, where they stood, slept, or strolled. No mercy. And quite possibly none for them either if they didn't find some answers fast.
But before they could search properly, the drills listed sideways and began to fall into the Antarctic sea, as a massive gap widened up and a sleek structure burst out from beneath the unknown depths.
The whole thing was illuminated by a burst of electricity casting a dramatic shadow as Lincoln charged up his free hand, the other holding up Daisy.
Joey should have melted the whole thing. He probably could have. But his first instinct? Turn and tackle his teammates behind the cover of a snow bank as a hatch slammed open, and a torrent of strange orange spewed in their direction.